Chapter 8 - Naomi’s God Couldn’t Save Her
Naomi tried one last time.
She had a distant cousin reach out through a lawyer, claiming Naomi had information about “additional incidents” and wanted to trade it for a reduced sentence or the chance to see her grandchildren.
It was a trap. A final attempt at control.
I met with the lawyer once, recorded everything, and handed the recording to Detective Ramirez.
There were no additional incidents. It was just Naomi trying to stay relevant.
Ramirez charged the cousin with attempted bribery. She took a plea and disappeared from our lives.
After that, the threats stopped. The letters stopped. The phone calls stopped.
Six months after the trial began, I legally changed our last name to Bennett — my mother’s maiden name. Quincy picked it out. He said it sounded like a fresh start.
Violet had some developmental delays from everything she went through, but she was catching up. She smiled now. She reached for me when she was scared. She reached for Quincy when she wanted to play.
By her first birthday, she was sitting up on her own and had the biggest, brightest smile.
People who met her often said, “She’s so happy. You can tell she’s loved.”
They were right.
Quincy had turned eight. He was in therapy, doing well in school, and had started telling people at show-and-tell that his little sister was the bravest person in the world because she survived being thrown away.
I had started working part-time from home. We were saving for a small house with a yard.
One night, after both kids were asleep, I stood in the doorway of their room and just watched them.
My son. My daughter.
Born different, some had said.
Born wrong.
Born a mistake.
They were none of those things.
May you like
They were the reason I kept breathing.
And I was theirs.
