Chapter 16
Healing did not happen in order.
Some days Rosie laughed so loudly the windows felt brighter.
Some nights she woke screaming because Aunt Beth was “joking” again in her dreams.
I found a therapist who specialized in childhood grief and trauma.
Rosie called her “the feelings teacher.”
I started therapy too.
I hated it.
Then I needed it.
Then I respected it.
I learned that rage had protected me, but it could not raise Rosie alone.
I learned that guilt loves quiet fathers.
I learned that grief is not a problem to solve.
It is a room you learn to enter safely.
Laura gave me Elena’s recovered letters on Rosie’s fifth birthday.
Police had found them in Bethany’s closet.
Every year.
Every milestone.
First lost tooth.
First day of school.
First heartbreak.
Wedding day.
I nearly collapsed when I saw the stack.
Rosie opened only the birthday letter.
She wanted the rest saved.
“For when I’m bigger,” she said.
Smart girl.
Mom’s supervised visits began six months later.
The first one was at a family center.
Rosie hid behind me.
Mom knelt.
“I am sorry I did not protect you.”
Rosie asked, “From Aunt Beth?”
“Yes.”
“And Grandpa?”
Mom cried.
“Yes.”
Rosie studied her.
“You can visit, but no yelling.”
Mom nodded.
“No yelling.”
It was awkward.
Fragile.
May you like
Real.
Sometimes repair begins with rules a child should never have had to make.
