“She laughs like Emily.”
“I know.”
“I heard it in those videos.”
“I know.”
Nothing was magically repaired that afternoon.
There was no clean ending.
Thirteen years do not disappear because someone finally explains them.
The months afterward were complicated.
I had anger to process.
Real anger.
Not only toward Carl.
Toward Dad too.
I had grief for the years we lost.
For the marriage we might have had.
For the father Lily could have known.
For the fact that people who loved me had repeatedly decided I was too fragile to be trusted with my own life.
Lily began spending time with Carl.
Their relationship belonged to them.
I did not interfere.
They had thirteen years to build around.
Carl and I talked too.
Sometimes the conversations were easy.
Sometimes they were painful.
Again and again, we returned to the same truth:
He had acted from love.
He had acted wrongly.
