He promised to make an effort.
I wasn’t certain he meant it until one evening when he arrived carrying Sinatra records and invited her to dance in our living room.
Watching them move slowly together, I realized that simple happiness mattered more than many things I’d once considered valuable.
As for Monica, I never tried contacting her again.
During the legal proceedings, she’d sent me a letter.
There was no genuine apology.
She claimed Trevor had made the significant decisions and she’d merely attempted to protect Buckeye.
She also suggested I was responsible for allowing the consequences to become so severe.
I placed her letter among my case documents without replying.
Still, I remember our childhood.
We shared a narrow bed, and whenever thunderstorms frightened Monica, she’d ask me to tell her stories until she felt safe.
Those memories haven’t disappeared.
But neither has the knowledge that she exploited my imprisonment for personal gain.
