No vague language.
I hurt you in the kitchen. I did not intend to reopen the wound, but I intended to hurt and frighten you. Then I told you to blame cancer because I was more concerned about protecting myself than protecting you.
I stopped reading.
Walked outside.
Came back twenty minutes later.
The last paragraph said:
I do not expect a reply. I am writing because for years I made you carry explanations for things I chose. They belong to me.
I folded the letter.
I cried.
Then I put it away.
Three weeks later I wrote back.
Not forgiveness.
Not reconciliation.
Daniel,
I read your letter.
You are right that those choices belong to you.
My recovery belongs to me.
I hope you continue treatment and build a life where nobody else has to become smaller for you to feel safe.
Emily
That was all.
We never became friends.
