Chapter 9
We moved to Boston a month later.
We bought a big old Victorian house in a quiet neighborhood, with a huge wrap-around porch, a big backyard for Max, a sunroom for Lauren’s painting studio, and a home office for me with a view of the park down the street.
Mason started first grade at the local elementary school, making friends on his first day.
He joined the soccer team, and Lauren and I went to every single game, cheering so loud the other parents stared.
Max loved the new house, spending his days chasing squirrels in the backyard and sleeping at the foot of Mason’s bed every night.
Lauren started her new job, and she was amazing at it.
Within three months, she’d led three huge campaigns, won two industry awards, and was already being talked about for a promotion to vice president.
I ran the company’s East Coast division, traveling back to Hartford once a month to check in at headquarters, but working mostly from my home office.
The Rose Collection was a massive hit, selling out in stores all over the world.
We donated 10% of every sale to domestic violence shelters, in honor of Lauren and all the women like her who’d been too scared to speak up.
Sarah got a job at a hospital in Boston too, moving into an apartment ten minutes from our house.
She came over for dinner every Tuesday and Thursday, bringing her famous lasagna and staying late to watch movies with us.
Rita even moved to Boston a few months later, taking a job at a rehab clinic nearby.
She still came over once a week to help me with my maintenance exercises, making sure my back stayed strong.
Eli flew up once a quarter, taking us all out to fancy dinners, updating us on the company and making sure all our legal stuff was in order.
Life was good.
Really good.
But there was still one thing missing.
One loose end I hadn’t tied up.
My parents.
Six months after we moved to Boston, a letter arrived in the mail, addressed to me.
It was postmarked from a small town in Vermont.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
It was my mom’s.
I stared at the envelope for a long time, my hands shaking, before I finally opened it.
Inside was a four-page letter, written in my mom’s loopy cursive, and a smaller envelope, addressed from my dad.
I read my mom’s letter first.
She wrote about how she and Dad had moved to Vermont after the trial, how they’d sold the big house in Connecticut, how they’d started going to therapy twice a week.
She wrote about how sorry she was.
How she’d spent her whole life making excuses for Tyler, how she’d blinded herself to how cruel he was, how she’d chosen him over me over and over again because she thought if she loved him enough, she could fix him.
She wrote about how wrong she’d been.
How she’d watched the trial, seen the evidence, heard Lauren’s testimony, and realized what a monster her son really was.
She wrote about how ashamed she was of how she’d treated me, how she’d called me a liar, how she’d tried to steal Grandma’s company, how she’d stood there and done nothing while Tyler tried to kill me.
She wrote that she didn’t expect me to forgive her.
That she knew she didn’t deserve it.
But she wanted me to know she was sorry.
That she loved me.
That she was proud of me, of the woman I’d become, of the good I was doing with the company.
My dad’s letter was shorter, stiffer, written in his messy scrawl.
He wrote that he was sorry too.
That he’d always been too hard on me, too easy on Tyler, that he’d valued the family name more than his own daughter.
That he’d spent his whole life trying to be perfect, trying to make the family look perfect, and he’d destroyed the only good thing he ever had—me—in the process.
He wrote that he was proud of me too.
That Grandma would be proud of me.
That if I ever wanted to see them, they’d be in Vermont, waiting.
No pressure.
No expectations.
Just… waiting.
I sat on the floor of my office for a long time after I read the letters, crying, holding them in my hands.
Lauren found me there, sitting in the dark, the letters spread out around me.
She didn’t say anything at first.
She just sat down beside me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders, letting me cry.
When I was done, I handed her the letters, letting her read them.
When she finished, she was quiet for a minute.
“What do you want to do?” she asked softly.
I wiped my eyes, staring out the window at the park.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Part of me wants to burn them. To pretend they don’t exist. They hurt me so bad, Lauren. For so long. They chose Tyler over me every single time. They let him hurt me. They tried to ruin my life. Why should I give them another chance?”
Lauren nodded.
“You’re right,” she said. “You don’t owe them anything. Not a phone call, not a visit, not a single thing. If you never want to talk to them again, that’s completely okay. I’ll support you no matter what. But… what does the other part of you want?”
I took a deep breath.
“The other part of me wants to believe them,” I whispered. “I want to believe they’re really sorry. That they’ve changed. That maybe… maybe we can have some kind of relationship. Not the way it was before. Never the way it was before. But something new. Something better. I want to have parents again. Even if they’re not perfect. Even if they messed up. I want that.”
Lauren squeezed my shoulder.
“Then go see them,” she said. “But on your terms. You make the rules. If they mess up, if they say one bad thing about you, if they even mention Tyler’s name in a way that makes you uncomfortable, you leave. And I’ll be right there with you, the whole time. Okay?”
I looked at her, my throat tight.
May you like
“You’d come with me?” I asked.
“Of course I would,” she said, smiling. “You’re my sister. I’ve got your back. Always.”
