Chapter 18
Mom tried to contact me six months later.
She’d finished her probation.
Done her community service.
Paid her fine.
She sent an email to my old address—one I didn’t use anymore.
It got forwarded to me by mistake.
I read it.
*Dear Daughter,*
*It’s been two years since the wedding. Two years since I’ve seen my grandchildren. I think about them every single day. I dream about them. I miss Ethan’s laugh. I miss Sophie’s stories. I miss being a grandma.*
*I know I messed up. Bad. I let my own issues with your father and with life in general turn me into someone I’m not. I took it out on you. On the kids. On everyone around me. I was wrong. Terribly wrong. And I am so, so sorry.*
*I’m in therapy now. Three times a week. The doctor says I have narcissistic personality disorder. That I’ve been projecting my own self-hatred onto you my whole life. That I never learned how to love properly because my mother never loved me. It’s not an excuse. It’s just… an explanation. For why I was the way I was.*
*I’m not asking you to forgive me. Not today. Maybe not ever. I’m just asking for a chance. One chance. To make it right. To be the mother and grandmother I should’ve been all along. Let me take the kids out for ice cream. Or to the zoo. Just once. Let them see I’m not the monster the courts made me out to be. Let me show them I’ve changed.*
*I’ll do anything. Whatever you want. I’ll sign whatever papers you need. I’ll go to more therapy. I’ll take classes. Just… please. Don’t make me go the rest of my life without knowing them.*
*Love always,*
*Mom*
I stared at the email for a long time.
Narcissistic personality disorder.
It made sense.
All of it.
The manipulation.
The lies.
The inability to take responsibility.
The way she could hurt someone one minute and act like the victim the next.
It was textbook.
And now she was using it as an excuse.
*I’m not a bad person. I’m just sick. I can change. Give me another chance.*
I’d heard it all before.
A hundred times growing up.
*I’m sorry I hit you. I was stressed.*
*I’m sorry I called you stupid. I had a bad day.*
*I’m sorry I ruined your birthday. Your father made me mad.*
Always an excuse.
Never any real change.
I thought about letting her see the kids.
Just once.
Maybe she really had changed.
Maybe the therapy was working.
Maybe she really was sorry.
Then I thought about Ethan’s letter.
*I don’t want to see you anymore. Not for a long time. Maybe ever.*
I thought about the nightmares.
About him thinking it was his fault.
About him ironing his own shirt and practicing his toast fourteen times because he loved her.
And she’d called him fair game.
I deleted the email.
Blocked her address.
And I never thought about it again.
Some bridges don’t need to be rebuilt.
Some bridges need to be burned down.
May you like
And the ashes scattered.
So no one can ever cross them again.
