Then he asked whether she might eventually be willing to speak with him.
I read the letter twice.
Part of me still remembered the little boy I had raised.
But another part remembered Chloe’s trembling voice inside that coffin.
I discussed the letter with her therapist and our attorney.
We agreed that Chloe’s emotional safety had to come first.
I did not give her the letter.
Not then.
Perhaps someday, when she was older and able to understand the circumstances, she could decide what contact, if any, she wanted with her father.
But I would never pressure her to forgive him.
Being someone’s parent does not entitle a person to unlimited access after causing serious harm.
And being someone’s grandmother does not mean protecting a grown son from the consequences of his choices.
I placed the letter in a locked drawer.
Then I returned to the kitchen, where Chloe was waiting to show me a drawing of our dog.
