Chapter 13 - Lucy Read Victoria’s Letter When She Was Ten
Three years after the canceled wedding, Lucy found the sealed envelope in our family document box.
I had never hidden:
it.
She knew it existed.
“Can I read it?”
“Yes.”
“Do I need Paige?”
“No, but we can call her afterward if you want.”
Lucy opened:
it.
Read slowly.
Her hair had grown below her shoulders again by then.
Not because we had been waiting for visual restoration.
Hair just grows.
She reached the sentence:
I planned to tell your dad you did it yourself.
Then looked at:
me.
“You knew this part?”
“Yes.”
“Did she really?”
“Yes.”
Lucy looked back down.
Then:
“She says she was jealous of Mom.”
“Yes.”
“Was she?”
“I think so.”
“Was that my fault?”
“No.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I know.”
Good.
Then she read the final line.
I do not expect you to forgive me or speak to me again.
Lucy folded the letter.
“What do I do with it?”
“Anything.”
“Can I throw it away?”
“Yes.”
She did not.
She put it back in the envelope.
Then:
“I don’t want to see her.”
“Okay.”
No reunion.
No dramatic:
forgiveness.
Then a month later she asked:
“Is Victoria still rich?”
I laughed.
“Yes, as far as I know.”
“Did she lose her company?”
“No.”
“Did she go to jail?”
“No.”
“Then what happened to her?”
She moved.
Continued work.
Her legal case ended.
She entered therapy.
She remained professionally successful in event design.
Some clients stopped working with her after details emerged privately through legal proceedings and industry relationships.
Others did not.
No universe arranged itself so her external life matched the harm she caused:
Lucy.
That was important to explain.
“Consequences don’t always look like somebody losing everything.”
Lucy considered:
that.
“Did she lose us?”
“Yes.”
That was enough.
Then Anna.
She had been promoted to assistant housekeeping manager based on years of work, not as a reward for protecting:
Lucy.
I made sure not to interfere in her career.
The hotel later invited her into staff-training development because she had direct experience with escalation procedures.
That was appropriate.
Then Rebecca remained part of our household.
Eventually less often as Lucy grew.
Then Sarah.
At ten, Lucy’s memories of her mother were increasingly memories of:
stories.
That bothered her.
“I don’t know if I remember her voice or videos of her voice.”
I said:
“I don’t know either.”
Sad.
Normal.
Then she asked whether Sarah would have liked Rachel.
I said:
“I have no idea.”
Lucy laughed.
Good.
Dead spouses do not need to approve future relationships from beyond the grave.
Then I showed her one note Sarah had written years earlier.
Not prophecy.
A grocery list with:
Lucy hates bananas this week. Probably loves them tomorrow. Children are unreliable witnesses about fruit.
Lucy laughed so hard she cried.
That was how Sarah returned to our home.
Not as competition.
As:
person.
Then Lucy asked if she could cut her hair short again.
I froze for half a second.
“Why?”
“Soccer.”
At ten, she hated hair sticking to her neck while running.
We went to the salon.
The stylist asked:
“How short?”
Lucy pointed to her jaw.
Same approximate length as the haircut we had used to even out Victoria’s damage years earlier.
I almost suggested:
longer.
Then stopped.
Her hair did not belong to my memories either.
Lucy chose:
short.
May you like
And nothing terrible happened.
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