Chapter 17
Years passed.
Lily grew tall and fierce.
She still hated necklaces.
She loved swimming.
She called the lake house “Grandpa’s hug.”
Every year on Dad’s birthday, we baked his favorite lemon cake and ate it on the porch.
At six, Lily asked, “Did Daddy love money more than me?”
I sat very still.
“No child should have to wonder that.”
“But did he?”
I chose truth carefully.
“He made choices that put money before your safety.”
She nodded.
Children often understand what adults try to decorate.
“Grandpa put me first?”
“Yes.”
“You too?”
“Always.”
At eight, she asked to read some court papers.
Dr. Marin helped us choose what was age-appropriate.
Lily cried.
Then she got angry.
Then she put the papers down and said, “I’m not evidence. I’m Lily.”
I hugged her so hard she complained.
“Mom, ribs.”
“Sorry.”
But I was not sorry.
May you like
Not really.
Because my daughter knew her name was bigger than what happened to her.
