I did not watch any of it closely. Mara watched it. That is what good attorneys are for.
Peter sent a letter eight months later. Four pages, handwritten, careful. He described the debt, the shame, the way he had told himself at every step that he was buying time rather than stealing something. He described letting Tiffany handle the door because he could not face me himself, which I found more damning than any deed. He said he was in therapy. He said he understood that I did not owe him forgiveness on any schedule or perhaps ever.
I read the letter twice.
I put it in a drawer.
I have not answered it yet. Maybe I will. Maybe the answer is simply that he has to rebuild himself from the beginning, the way I rebuilt the house, not because someone is waiting for the work to be finished but because living in a ruin eventually becomes a choice.
