Chapter 12
Six months later.
Sophie's art was chosen for the school exhibition. Ellie won the district spelling bee. Alexander cried at both events and pretended he had allergies.
I started writing again — something I'd abandoned when I married Derek. Alexander converted the spare room into a studio for me, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a desk facing the garden.
"You don't have to publish anything," he said. "Write for yourself."
But I did publish — a memoir, anonymous, about survival and rebuilding. It resonated. Within a month, it was a bestseller.
No one knew the author was me. I wanted it that way.
Life settled into a rhythm. School runs. Saturday morning pancakes. Alexander's ridiculous habit of buying flowers on Thursdays. Ellie's sharp tongue. Sophie's gentle heart.
Ordinary. Beautiful. Mine.
Then, on a Tuesday evening, a letter arrived.
From prison.
*"Dear Lily,*
*I don't expect you to read this. I wouldn't read it if I were you. But I need to write it, so here it is.*
*I wasn't always the person you knew at the end. There was a time — you probably don't remember — when I braided your hair before school. When I held your hand at Mom's first surgery. When we were sisters.*
*I don't know when I became the other thing. Maybe when Mom left everything to you. Maybe before that. Maybe I was always broken and you were just too kind to notice.*
*I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve it. I'm asking you to remember that once — just once — I was your sister. And I loved you in whatever broken way I could.*
*Vanessa."*
I stared at the letter for a long time.
Then I folded it and put it in the drawer with Derek's letter.
"Who was it from?" Alexander asked from the doorway.
"Vanessa."
He tensed. "What did she want?"
"To be remembered as something other than a monster."
"And? Will you?"
I considered. "I'll remember what's true. She braided my hair. She also tried to kill me. Both things happened. I can hold both."
Alexander nodded. He didn't push further.
That night, Ellie crawled into our bed — something she hadn't done in months.
"Bad dream?" I asked.
"No." She tucked herself between us. "I just wanted to be close."
Alexander shifted to make room, draping an arm over both of us. Sophie appeared minutes later, drawn by some twin radar, and wedged herself in on my other side.
Four people in a bed meant for two. Elbows and knees and tangled sheets.
I'd never been more comfortable in my life.
"Daddy?" Ellie murmured, half asleep.
"Yeah, bug?"
"Don't ever stop buying us flowers."
"Never," he promised.
Sophie's art was chosen for the school exhibition. Ellie won the district spelling bee. Alexander cried at both events and pretended he had allergies.
I started writing again — something I'd abandoned when I married Derek. Alexander converted the spare room into a studio for me, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a desk facing the garden.
"You don't have to publish anything," he said. "Write for yourself."
But I did publish — a memoir, anonymous, about survival and rebuilding. It resonated. Within a month, it was a bestseller.
No one knew the author was me. I wanted it that way.
Life settled into a rhythm. School runs. Saturday morning pancakes. Alexander's ridiculous habit of buying flowers on Thursdays. Ellie's sharp tongue. Sophie's gentle heart.
Ordinary. Beautiful. Mine.
Then, on a Tuesday evening, a letter arrived.
From prison.
*"Dear Lily,*
*I don't expect you to read this. I wouldn't read it if I were you. But I need to write it, so here it is.*
*I wasn't always the person you knew at the end. There was a time — you probably don't remember — when I braided your hair before school. When I held your hand at Mom's first surgery. When we were sisters.*
*I don't know when I became the other thing. Maybe when Mom left everything to you. Maybe before that. Maybe I was always broken and you were just too kind to notice.*
*I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve it. I'm asking you to remember that once — just once — I was your sister. And I loved you in whatever broken way I could.*
*Vanessa."*
I stared at the letter for a long time.
Then I folded it and put it in the drawer with Derek's letter.
"Who was it from?" Alexander asked from the doorway.
"Vanessa."
He tensed. "What did she want?"
"To be remembered as something other than a monster."
"And? Will you?"
I considered. "I'll remember what's true. She braided my hair. She also tried to kill me. Both things happened. I can hold both."
Alexander nodded. He didn't push further.
That night, Ellie crawled into our bed — something she hadn't done in months.
"Bad dream?" I asked.
"No." She tucked herself between us. "I just wanted to be close."
Alexander shifted to make room, draping an arm over both of us. Sophie appeared minutes later, drawn by some twin radar, and wedged herself in on my other side.
Four people in a bed meant for two. Elbows and knees and tangled sheets.
I'd never been more comfortable in my life.
"Daddy?" Ellie murmured, half asleep.
"Yeah, bug?"
"Don't ever stop buying us flowers."
"Never," he promised.