Chapter 13
Evelyn’s trial was smaller but uglier.
My mother had always preferred clean hands.
She ordered.
Suggested.
Implied.
Let other people swing.
Bethany testified against her.
So did Paul.
So did cousins who suddenly remembered hearing things.
I hated their sudden courage.
I accepted their statements anyway.
Justice can use cowards if truth comes out.
The prosecutor showed messages from Evelyn to Bethany.
Rosie needs to look unstable.
Mark needs to look overwhelmed.
Trust money should remain with blood.
Blood.
That word had poisoned my childhood.
Blood meant loyalty.
Blood meant silence.
Blood meant letting my father throw glass and still calling him Dad.
The jury convicted Evelyn on conspiracy and child endangerment-related charges.
Bethany received prison time and mandatory no contact.
Evelyn received less than I wanted.
More than she expected.
When she was led out, she looked at me and said, “You’ll regret losing your mother.”
I thought of Rosie’s bruised cheek.
Claire’s grave.
The glass at my shoulder.
“I already did,” I said.
After the trials, Paul asked again about seeing Rosie.
This time, Dr. Ford said we could consider a supervised meeting.
Rosie agreed.
But she made rules.
“No touching.”
“Bring no presents.”
“Say sorry once.”
“Don’t cry too loud.”
Paul followed every rule.
They met in Dr. Ford’s office.
Rosie sat beside me.
Paul sat across from us, hands folded.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have helped sooner.”
Rosie looked at him.
“Why didn’t you?”
Paul swallowed.
“Because I was scared of Grandpa.”
“He scared me too.”
“I know.”
“But I still told.”
Paul’s eyes filled.
“Yes. You were braver than me.”
Rosie thought about that.
Then handed him one tissue.
“You can cry medium.”
Paul laughed and cried at once.
That was the first stitch.
May you like
Not repair.
A stitch.
