Chapter 3
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
Elena.
My dead wife’s name.
The one name my family only spoke when they wanted to hurt me.
Rosie hiccuped against my chest.
“Daddy?”
“It’s okay.”
But it was not okay.
Nothing was.
I drove straight to urgent care.
The nurse saw Rosie’s cheek and asked one quiet question.
“Do you feel safe at home?”
Rosie looked at me.
I answered for both of us.
“Yes. But not with my family.”
They documented everything.
Bruise.
Finger marks.
Small scrape behind her ear.
Rosie told the doctor Aunt Beth squeezed her arms because she would not say “Mommy left me.”
I had to stand in the hallway for one minute after that.
I pressed my forehead to the wall.
Breathed.
Failed.
Breathed again.
When I came back, a police officer was there.
The doctor had called.
Good.
I gave my statement.
I told them about Bethany.
About my mother excusing it.
About my father throwing the glass.
When the officer asked if I wanted to press charges, I looked through the glass at Rosie holding a stuffed lamb.
“Yes.”
My mother called twelve times.
My father called once.
Bethany sent one text.
You assaulted me in front of everyone. I will ruin you.
I forwarded it to the officer.
At home, after Rosie finally fell asleep, I read the unknown message again.
Check Bethany’s purse.
I called my cousin Laura.
She had been at dinner.
She answered crying.
“I should have helped.”
“Yes,” I said.
She sobbed harder.
“I know.”
“Bethany’s purse. What’s in it?”
Silence.
“Laura.”
“I saw her put something inside after Rosie fell.”
“What?”
“A little envelope. Blue. It had Elena’s handwriting.”
My chest tightened.
Elena had left letters for Rosie.
Birthday letters.
Milestones.
A box full of them.
The box had disappeared after her funeral.
My family told me I misplaced it in grief.
May you like
I closed my eyes.
They had lied.
