Chapter 19 - Olivia’s letter
Olivia wrote to me when Sophie was eight months old.
Six pages.
The first version, according to her therapist, had been twelve.
Thank God for editing.
She began:
I lied to Daniel.
Good.
Then:
Mom asked me to tell him you had admitted delaying care. I knew you had never told me that.
There.
I kept reading.
I was angry at you before the miscarriage.
Why?
Because I thought you always got to leave.
College in another city.
Marriage.
Travel.
Boston.
I stayed close to Mom and then resented you for not carrying the same responsibility.
That was honest.
Then:
After you lost June, I was jealous of the way everyone treated your grief as sacred while my pregnancy later felt like something I had to apologize for enjoying.
I stopped.
That accusation still annoyed me.
Then the next sentence:
That feeling was mine. You did not create it.
Better.
She addressed the shower.
I used your miscarriage to make myself feel powerful in a room where I wanted to be the center. I knew the story I was repeating was false.
There.
No:
I was joking.
No:
You were too sensitive.
Then:
Mom pushing you was not something I expected or wanted. But I helped create the confrontation by humiliating you.
Specific.
Finally:
Sophie does not need an aunt if having me in your life is unsafe. I will not use my daughter to ask for forgiveness.
That sentence earned something.
Not access.
Respect.
I replied:
I received your letter. I appreciate the accuracy. I am not ready for contact.
She wrote back:
Understood.
May you like
Nothing else.
Good.
