There was no excuse.
No accusation.
Just three pages.
She admitted that she had been angry with my father for decades.
She admitted that she had resented me for reminding her of him.
And she admitted that Brent had become her favorite because he never challenged her version of the past.
The last sentence was the one that stayed with me.
I thought I was punishing you, Julia. I didn’t realize I was teaching your children to hate themselves.
I read it twice.
Then I folded the letter.
I didn’t burn it.
I didn’t throw it away.
I simply put it in a box.
Some things belong in the past without needing to be destroyed.
A year later, we celebrated New Year’s Eve differently.
There were no expensive decorations.
No huge family gathering.
No champagne tower.
Just me, Emma, Noah, and my father.
Yes.
My father.
