Chapter 9 - THE LAST LETTER FROM RICHARD
Seven years after my wedding night, a letter arrived.
Prison return address.
Richard.
I almost threw it away.
Then opened it.
Not because I owed him attention.
Because curiosity is not surrender.
He wrote six pages.
The first two were excuses.
Childhood.
Father.
Ambition.
Fear of insignificance.
The next two were self-analysis.
Interesting.
Still centered on him.
Then one sentence changed.
I kept believing that if I could control someone’s choices, I could prevent them from leaving. Eventually, control became the reason everyone left.
I sat back.
That was almost insight.
Then:
I did love you.
I closed my eyes.
Years earlier, that sentence would have destabilized me.
Now it simply made me sad.
Maybe he did.
Maybe predators can love in damaged, possessive ways.
Love is not always evidence of safety.
I finished the letter.
He apologized to Emily.
To me.
To Mara.
Then asked for nothing.
No reply.
No visit.
That was the most respectful thing he had ever done.
I sent no response.
Emily asked later:
“Did you forgive him?”
I thought.
“Enough that I don’t need him punished inside my head every day.”
She nodded.
“Same.”
“Would you ever see him?”
“No.”
“Same.”
Boundaries.
May you like
Again.
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