Chapter 12
The second year after the trial was even better than the first.
Grace turned seven.
She had her first birthday party with friends from school.
A princess party.
She wore a pink dress and a tiara.
She blew out the candles and wished for “more days like this.”
We all cried.
Lily turned eight.
She made the travel soccer team.
We drove her to games every weekend.
Rain or shine.
She scored the winning goal in the championship game.
We screamed so loud our throats hurt.
James’ construction company grew.
He hired ten men.
All men who’d been in trouble.
Who needed a second chance.
He paid them well.
Treated them like family.
His company was voted the best small business in the county.
My social work career took off too.
I started a support group for mothers of kidnapped children.
For women who’d lost their babies and found them again.
Women who understood the unique pain and joy of what we’d been through.
We met once a month at the community center.
We cried together.
Laughed together.
Helped each other heal.
Clara retired.
She spent her days gardening and volunteering at the girls’ school.
She was the most popular grandma there.
Every kid wanted her to be their grandma.
Darlene moved into a new house James had built for her.
No more trailer.
No more leaky roof.
No more cold nights.
She had a big yard for her dogs.
A guest room for Grace.
She was happy.
We were all happy.
But then, in November, something happened.
A letter came in the mail.
Not from Margaret.
From the state prison board.
Margaret was up for a compassionate release hearing.
She had terminal cancer.
Six months to live, the doctors said.
She was asking to be released to die at home.
The letter said we had the right to testify at the hearing.
To tell the board why she should stay in prison.
I held the letter in my hand, shaking.
James came up behind me and read it over my shoulder.
He went still.
“The nerve of her,” he said quietly. “After everything she did. She wants to die at home? In comfort? After she made us suffer for six years? After she killed our son?”
“I know.”
“Are you going to testify?”
I thought about it.
I thought about Margaret.
Alone in a prison cell.
Sick.
Dying.
I thought about Daniel.
Our tiny son.
Who’d lived for only two hours.
Who’d never gotten to take a breath of fresh air.
Never gotten to feel the sun on his face.
Never gotten to meet his sisters.
I thought about Grace.
The six years she’d lost.
The nightmares she still had.
The way she still woke up screaming some nights.
I thought about Lily.
The way she’d flinched when James tried to touch her after the gala.
The way she’d thought she was a bad girl for being hungry.
I thought about all the nights I’d cried myself to sleep.
All the days I’d thought I’d lose my mind.
All the times I’d almost given up.
And I thought about forgiveness.
People always talk about forgiveness.
About how it sets you free.
About how holding onto hate only hurts you.
But how do you forgive someone who killed your baby?
Who stole your daughters?
Who tried to destroy everything you love?
Was forgiveness even possible?
“I don’t know,” I said finally. “I really don’t know.”
The hearing was two weeks later.
We talked about it every night.
James was adamant.
“I’m going to testify. I’m going to tell them exactly what she did. She deserves to die in that cell. Alone. Just like Daniel died alone.”
Clara felt the same.
“She showed us no mercy. Why should we show her any?”
Darlene was quieter.
“I don’t know. She’s dying. What’s the point of making her suffer more? It won’t bring your son back. It won’t give Grace those six years back. It won’t change anything.”
Sarah agreed.
“Forgiveness isn’t for her. It’s for you. If you go to that hearing and yell and scream, you’re giving her power over you again. You’re letting her live in your head rent free. Let her go. Let her die. Be done with her.”
Dr. Maya, Grace’s therapist, talked to us about it too.
“Forgiveness doesn’t mean what she did was okay,” she said. “It doesn’t mean you excuse it. It just means you’re choosing to stop carrying the weight of it. You’re choosing to let it go so you can be free.”
The day before the hearing, I took the girls to Daniel’s stone under the oak tree.
We sat there for a long time.
“Girls,” I said. “Grandma Margaret is very sick. She’s going to die soon. She’s asking the court to let her leave prison and die at home. Daddy and I have to decide if we’re going to try to stop her or not.”
Lily frowned.
“She was mean to us. She hurt Grace. She hurt Daniel. She should stay in jail.”
Grace was quiet.
She picked at a blade of grass.
“Darlene says when people are dying, they get scared,” she said softly. “She says they want to be with people who love them. Margaret has no one. No one loves her. That’s sad.”
I looked at her, surprised.
“Aren’t you angry at her?” I asked.
Grace nodded.
“Sometimes. When I have bad dreams. But Darlene says being angry is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. It only hurts me. I don’t want to be hurt anymore. I want to be happy.”
She looked up at me, her blue eyes wise beyond her years.
“Let her go, Mommy. Let her be sad and alone. We have each other. We’re happy. That’s the best revenge.”
I stared at her.
My seven-year-old daughter.
Who’d been through more than most adults go through in a lifetime.
And she was wiser than all of us.
That night, I talked to James.
I told him what Grace had said.
He was quiet for a long time.
Then he nodded slowly.
“She’s right. She’s absolutely right. Going to that hearing, fighting her, screaming at her… it gives her what she wants. One last fight. One last chance to hurt us. We’re not giving it to her.”
“So we’re not going to testify?”
“No. We’re not going. We’re going to send a letter. A short letter. Telling the board we have no objection to her release. That we want nothing more to do with her. That she is dead to us.”
He took my hand.
“Grace is right. The best revenge is living well. And look at us, Emily. We’re living very, very well.”
The next day, we sent the letter.
We didn’t go to the hearing.
We took the girls to the zoo instead.
We watched the monkeys.
Ate cotton candy.
Rode the train.
We didn’t think about Margaret at all.
A week later, we got a letter in the mail.
The board had approved her release.
She was out.
We didn’t care.
May you like
We threw the letter away.
And we went back to living our perfect, beautiful life.
