My jealous older sister pretended to trip at our family lunch and spilled a whole pot of boiling tea all down my front, then while everyone was distracted she drove her heavy boot hard straight into my 7-month pregnant stomach.

Hope was three months old when the first letter arrived from prison.

It was from Patricia.

I recognized her handwriting immediately.

Nathan found me staring at the envelope in the kitchen.

"Who is it from?"

"My mother."

He tensed.

"Do you want me to throw it away?"

I hesitated.

Part of me wanted to burn it.

To never read a word she had to say.

But another part of me was curious.

What could she possibly have to say after everything?

"No," I said. "I'll read it."

I opened the envelope.

The letter was short.

Emily,

I know you probably don't want to hear from me. But I had to write. I've been thinking about everything. About what we did. About what I did. I was wrong, Emily. So very wrong. I should have protected you. I should have loved you the way you deserved. But I failed you. I failed your baby. And I'm so sorry.

Megan is not the daughter I thought she was. I see that now. I see what she is. And I see that I created her. By spoiling her. By enabling her. By choosing her over you every single time. I destroyed both of my daughters. One I turned into a monster. The other I pushed away until she had to destroy us to survive.

I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't deserve forgiveness. I just wanted you to know that I finally understand. And I'm sorry.

Mom

I put the letter down.

I didn't cry.

I didn't feel anger.

I just felt... nothing.

Nathan watched me carefully.

"What did she say?"

"She's sorry. She says she finally understands what she did wrong."

"Do you believe her?"

I thought about it.

"I think she believes it. Now that she's in prison. Now that Megan isn't the perfect daughter she imagined. Now that she has nothing but time to think about what she lost. But her apology comes too late. She had thirty years to love me. To protect me. She chose not to. An apology from a prison cell doesn't undo any of that."

I picked up the letter.

I tore it into small pieces and dropped it in the trash.

"I don't owe her anything. Not even the dignity of a response."

Nathan nodded.

"Good."

But the letters kept coming.

One a month.

Sometimes more.

From Patricia.

From George.

Each one more desperate than the last.

Each one begging for forgiveness.

For a response.

For a visit.

George's letters were different from Patricia's.

He was angry at first.

Blaming Megan.

Blaming Patricia.

Blaming everyone but himself.

Then his tone changed.

He became remorseful.

He wrote about watching me grow up.

About how proud he had been of me, even if he never said it.

About how he wished he could take it all back.

I threw every single letter away unread after the first one.

I didn't owe them my time.

I didn't owe them my attention.

I had a new life now.

A good life.

And I wasn't going to let them back into it.

Not even through letters.

Then Megan wrote.

Her letter was different.

No apology.

No remorse.

Just the same cold hatred.

Emily,

You think you won. You think you're better than me. But you're not. You're just a cold, empty shell of a person. You have that baby now, I hear. Congratulations. But you'll always be looking over your shoulder. Always waiting for something to go wrong. Because you know what I'm capable of. And even though I'm in here, I'm still in your head. I always will be.

Enjoy your perfect little life. But remember: I took your first baby. And I'll always have that victory.

Megan

This letter did make me angry.

Not because of what she said.

But because for a split second, she was right.

I did look over my shoulder sometimes.

I did have nightmares.

I did worry that something would happen to Hope.

But then I looked at my daughter.

At her smile.

At her laugh.

And I realized something.

Megan was the one in a cage.

She was the one whose life was over.

She was the one who would never know the love of a child.

Who would never feel a baby's hand wrap around her finger.

Who would never experience the joy that filled my home every single day.

She could write all the letters she wanted.

She could pretend she had won.

But the truth was obvious.

I had everything.

She had nothing.

I threw her letter away too.

And I made a decision.

I was going to stop letting them live in my head rent-free.

I was going to stop thinking about them.

Stop wondering about them.

They were part of my past.

And my past didn't get to dictate my future.

That night, I held Hope while she slept.

Nathan sat beside me.

"I got a letter from Megan today," I said.

Nathan's jaw tightened.

"What did she say?"

"More of the same. Trying to convince herself she won."

"She's pathetic."

"She is. But she's also right about one thing. She did take something from us. Our first baby. And that pain will always be there. But she didn't take everything. She didn't take us. She didn't take Hope. And she didn't take our ability to love and be happy."

I looked at Nathan.

"I'm done thinking about them, Nathan. I'm done letting them take up space in my head. From now on, we focus on us. On Hope. On the foundation. On the good things in our lives."

Nathan kissed me.

"I like that plan."

And that's exactly what we did.

We changed our phone numbers.

We set up a P.O. box for all mail, and we had someone else sort through it first.

We built a wall between our old life and our new one.

And slowly, the Collins family faded into the background.

They became a memory.

A painful one, yes.

But not one that defined us anymore.

We had a new life now.