Chapter 12 - THE LETTER FROM MARIS
Maris wrote to Victor six months after the proceedings began.
The letter arrived without warning.
Victor recognized her handwriting immediately.
He sat at the kitchen table.
Catherine was preparing dinner.
Annie was drawing birds.
He opened the envelope.
Victor,
I know you may never forgive me.
I have spent months trying to understand how everything became so terrible.
I told myself I was protecting you.
I told myself Catherine wanted your money.
I told myself Annie would be better off away from the family conflict.
Those were lies I used to justify what I wanted.
I wanted control.
I was afraid of losing my place in your life.
And I allowed that fear to become cruelty.
I cannot undo what I did.
I know that.
I am sorry.
Mom.
Victor read the letter twice.
Then placed it on the table.
Catherine looked at him.
“From Maris?”
He nodded.
She approached.
“Do you want to talk?”
He hesitated.
“She apologized.”
Catherine was silent.
Victor looked at her.
“Does that mean anything?”
She considered the question.
“Maybe.”
He stared.
She continued.
“But an apology doesn't erase consequences.”
Victor nodded.
“I know.”
He looked toward Annie.
The little girl was humming softly.
He remembered finding her behind the hotel.
The discarded bread.
Her thin arms.
Her frightened eyes.
He closed his eyes.
“I don't know if I can forgive her.”
Catherine sat beside him.
“You don't have to.”
He looked up.
She continued.
“Not now. Maybe not ever.”
Victor nodded slowly.
Catherine took his hand.
“Forgiveness isn't something you owe someone because they ask.”
He stared at her.
She smiled sadly.
“It's something you decide, if and when you're ready.”
Victor looked at the letter.
For years, he'd believed his mother's love was unconditional.
Now he understood it had often come with demands.
Obedience.
Silence.
Loyalty.
He folded the letter.
Placed it in a drawer.
And returned to dinner.
He didn't call Maris.
He didn't tear up the letter.
May you like
He simply chose to spend the evening with the family he'd almost lost.
And for the first time, that choice felt enough.
