Chapter 25 - isla stopped seeing lucinda for a year and nobody forced forgiveness
The day after learning the truth, Isla canceled her next visit with Lucinda.
Then the one after that.
Then all of them.
Lucinda did not challenge.
Her attorney confirmed she would not seek enforcement while Isla’s therapist recommended space.
Three months became six.
Six became a year.
Lucinda wrote one letter.
Isla refused to read it.
I stored it.
No one pressured her.
Some relatives disagreed.
Lucinda’s sister called once.
“She’s still Isla’s mother.”
I answered:
“Yes.”
“Then shouldn’t they work through this?”
“They are.”
“By not seeing each other?”
“For now.”
“She’s a child.”
“Exactly.”
I ended the call.
What surprised me was my own reaction.
Part of me felt vindicated.
See?
Now Isla knows.
Now she rejects Lucinda.
That part of me disgusted me.
My therapist named it.
“You want your daughter’s anger to validate yours.”
Yes.
“Does it?”
No.
Because Isla’s relationship with Lucinda was not a jury referendum on my assault.
I had to stop using my daughter’s boundaries as evidence that my feelings were correct.
They already were mine.
One year later Isla asked:
“Did Mom write?”
“Yes.”
“Only once?”
“Yes.”
“Can I read?”
I gave her the envelope.
Lucinda wrote:
Isla,
I will not tell you that becoming your mother made what I did worth it.
That would be cruel to your father and unfair to you.
I am grateful you exist.
I am not grateful for the crime I committed.
Those things are both true even when they feel impossible.
Isla stopped.
Read again.
Then continued.
I also understand that knowing I am sorry does not require you to see me.
I have spent years learning that motherhood is not the right to receive love from a child.
It is responsibility for how my actions affect that child, including when the safest thing I can do is wait.
I love you.
Lucinda.
Isla cried.
Then said:
“I hate that it’s good.”
I almost laughed.
Elisa, nineteen by then, was visiting from college.
She said:
“That happens.”
Isla looked at her.
“You still hate her?”
Elisa thought.
“Some days.”
“Other days?”
“I don’t think about her.”
That answer surprised Isla.
Probably because hatred felt like loyalty to me.
Elisa had already learned it did not need to.
“Do you think I should see her?”
“No idea.”
“Helpful.”
“Not my relationship.”
Elisa smiled.
“Annoying therapist answer.”
Isla eventually requested one therapeutic meeting.
Lucinda attended.
No hug.
No expectation.
Isla asked:
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Lucinda answered:
“Because professionals said you were not ready.”
Isla stared.
“And because I was afraid you would stop loving me.”
There.
The selfish part.
Lucinda did not hide it.
“I let the professional advice protect me from confronting that fear.”
Isla nodded.
“That sounds more true.”
Then:
“Do you want me back?”
Lucinda cried.
“Yes.”
“Back how?”
“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer maybe.
Honest.
Isla said:
“I don’t want old visits.”
“What do you want?”
“Coffee sometimes.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“You’re old.”
Lucinda almost laughed.
“Hot chocolate?”
“Fine.”
Their relationship became exactly that for two years.
Public café.
Therapist available but not always present.
No mother-daughter weekends.
No sleepovers.
No custody expansion.
Contact chosen by Isla.
Small.
Real.
May you like
Not restored to what never existed.
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