Chapter 9
I read Sarah’s letter three times.
Then I put it in a drawer.
For two days, I told nobody.
Not Daniel.
Not Mom.
Certainly not Emily.
The request was simple.
Please let me see our daughter once.
Sarah wrote that she understood if the answer was no.
She said she was attending counseling.
She said she had joined a parenting program.
She said she wanted nothing from Emily except the chance to apologize.
My first reaction was anger.
She had already taken enough.
Why should she be allowed into Emily’s healing?
Then guilt arrived.
Sarah was Emily’s mother.
No matter how much I hated what she had done.
I finally showed the letter to Dr. Fields.
She read it carefully.
“What do you think?” I asked.
She handed it back.
“This isn’t really about what Sarah wants.”
“I know.”
“It’s about what Emily needs.”
“What does she need?”
“That may change over time.”
I leaned forward.
“Right now?”
“Right now, she feels safe.”
“So no visit.”
“I didn’t say that.”
I exhaled in frustration.
“I need someone to tell me what the right decision is.”
Dr. Fields smiled sadly.
“Parenting rarely works that way.”
That annoyed me because it was true.
She suggested asking Emily carefully.
Not telling her about the letter immediately.
Just exploring how she felt about Sarah.
That evening, Emily and I made spaghetti.
She spilled sauce on the floor.
I slipped in it.
She laughed so hard she fell against the cabinets.
For a minute, life was beautifully ordinary.
Then after dinner, we sat on the couch.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“If you could tell Mommy one thing, what would it be?”
Her smile faded.
I almost regretted asking.
She thought for a long time.
Then she said,
“I’d ask why.”
My throat tightened.
“Why what?”
“Why she wanted you gone.”
I nodded.
“Anything else?”
Emily looked down.
“I’d tell her I was mad.”
“That’s okay.”
“And I miss her.”
“That’s okay too.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Would you be mad if I missed her?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She leaned against me.
Then she asked,
“Does Mommy miss me?”
I could have lied.
Instead, I said,
“I think she does.”
A week later, Dr. Fields recommended a supervised video call before any prison visit.
Sarah agreed.
The call took place from Dr. Fields’s office.
I was allowed to sit in the room but outside the camera.
Emily held my hand.
When Sarah’s face appeared on the screen, my daughter froze.
So did Sarah.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Sarah whispered,
“Hi, baby.”
Emily’s fingers squeezed mine.
“Hi.”
Sarah began crying immediately.
I hated seeing it.
Not because I enjoyed her pain.
Because part of me still remembered comforting those tears.
Sarah wiped her face.
“You look so big.”
Emily said nothing.
“I like your hair.”
“Grandma did it.”
Sarah nodded.
“She always was better at braids than me.”
Emily almost smiled.
Then silence.
Dr. Fields reminded Sarah that Emily could end the call anytime.
Sarah nodded.
“I know.”
She looked straight at our daughter.
“I owe you an apology.”
Emily’s eyes lowered.
Sarah continued.
“I told you things that were not true.”
My heart began pounding.
“I told you your daddy was dangerous.”
Emily looked toward me.
I squeezed her hand.
Sarah swallowed.
“He wasn’t.”
Emily’s eyes filled.
“Why did you lie?”
There it was.
The question.
Sarah closed her eyes.
“Because I was selfish.”
Emily frowned.
“What’s selfish?”
Sarah gave a broken laugh.
“It means I cared more about what I wanted than what it would do to other people.”
“Did you want Daddy gone?”
Sarah’s face twisted.
“Yes.”
Emily began crying.
I almost ended the call.
Dr. Fields watched her carefully.
Sarah continued before I could move.
“And that was wrong.”
Emily wiped her face.
“Did you stop loving Daddy?”
Sarah looked at me even though she couldn’t see me.
“I stopped treating him like someone I had ever loved.”
That answer was painful.
But honest.
Then Emily asked,
“Did you stop loving me?”
Sarah covered her mouth.
“No.”
Emily waited.
Sarah forced herself to continue.
“But I hurt you anyway.”
That mattered.
She didn’t say everything she did was because she loved her.
She didn’t excuse it.
She admitted love had not prevented harm.
Emily whispered,
“I’m mad at you.”
“You should be.”
“I don’t want to visit.”
Sarah cried silently.
“Okay.”
“I might later.”
Sarah nodded.
“Okay.”
“I miss you sometimes.”
Sarah broke.
She lowered her head.
“I miss you every day.”
Emily looked at Dr. Fields.
“I’m done.”
The call ended.
My daughter immediately climbed into my lap.
I held her.
She cried for almost ten minutes.
When she finally stopped, she whispered,
“I feel weird.”
Dr. Fields smiled gently.
“That makes sense.”
“Am I supposed to forgive her?”
That question stunned me.
Dr. Fields looked toward me, giving me the chance to answer.
I chose carefully.
“No.”
Emily looked up.
“You don’t have to forgive anybody because other people tell you to.”
“What if I want to?”
“Then you can.”
“What if I don’t?”
“That’s okay too.”
She nodded.
On the drive home, Emily was unusually quiet.
Then she said,
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“I think Mommy is sorry.”
“I think she is too.”
“Does sorry fix things?”
“No.”
She stared out the window.
“What does?”
“Time.”
I thought about it.
“And truth.”
She smiled faintly.
“And hugs?”
I reached across the console.
“And hugs.”
Months passed.
The calls became monthly.
Then twice a month.
Sarah never pressured Emily.
Never asked her to keep secrets.
Never criticized me.
The first time she did anything remotely manipulative, Dr. Fields would have ended contact.
It never happened.
Maybe prison changed her.
Maybe losing everything did.
Maybe accountability finally forced her to see herself.
I didn’t know.
I only knew Emily was no longer afraid when Sarah’s name came up.
One evening, almost two years after my arrest, Emily came into my room.
“Daddy?”
“What’s up?”
“I want to see Mommy.”
I put down the book I was reading.
“In person?”
She nodded.
I felt fear immediately.
But it wasn’t my decision alone.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
I almost smiled.
“That’s okay.”
She sat beside me.
“Can you come?”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“Even though you hate prison?”
I looked at her.
“How do you know that?”
She shrugged.
“You make your angry eyebrows when people talk about it.”
I laughed.
Then she touched my arm.
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I do.”
Two weeks later, we drove to the correctional facility.
My hands shook against the steering wheel.
Emily noticed.
She placed a small red marker in the cup holder.
“For luck.”
I looked at it.
Then at her.
The same kind of marker she had carried into court.
I smiled.
“Good idea.”
We passed through security.
Waited.
Then entered the visitation room.
Sarah walked in wearing prison clothing.
Emily froze.
Sarah stopped several feet away.
Nobody moved.
Then Emily took one slow step forward.
“Hi, Mommy.”
Sarah’s face crumpled.
“Hi, baby.”
Emily didn’t run to her.
Didn’t hug her.
Not yet.
May you like
She simply stood there.
And that was enough.
