Chapter 10
The first letter from David arrived six months into his sentence.
Elaine screened it.
Then asked if I wanted to read it.
I said no.
Then yes.
Then no again.
Finally, I took it home unopened and placed it on my desk.
It sat there for three days.
On the fourth, I opened it.
Claire,
I have written this letter ten times. Every version sounded like an excuse.
I hit you.
I humiliated you.
I let other people laugh because their laughter made me feel bigger.
I have spent months telling myself you destroyed me. The truth is worse. You simply stopped protecting me from what I was.
I do not ask forgiveness.
I do not deserve contact.
I only want to say I am sorry without asking you to make me feel better.
David
I read it twice.
Then I placed it in a folder labeled Legal.
Not because it was legal.
Because I did not want it in my heart.
Dr. Brooks asked how it made me feel.
“Angry.”
“At what?”
“That it sounds sincere.”
She nodded.
“Sincerity does not create obligation.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I hated therapists sometimes.
“I’m learning.”
Healing was not a straight road.
Some days I felt powerful.
Some days I cried because a man in a grocery store raised his voice.
Some days I missed being married.
Not to David exactly.
To the idea of having someone.
Then I would come home to my cream living room, my library wine cellar, my quiet office, and remember that someone could not cost me myself.
On the anniversary of the night he hit me, I hosted dinner.
Not a gala.
Not a corporate event.
A real dinner.
My mother.
Elaine.
Diana, my head of security.
Maya.
Janet.
Natalie, my childhood friend.
Women who had stood, testified, protected, rebuilt.
We ate at the new table.
We drank wine from the former wine cellar, now pulled from a shelf between novels.
At one point, my mother raised a glass.
“To Claire.”
I groaned.
“Mom.”
“No. Let me.”
Everyone quieted.
My mother looked at me.
“You did not become strong that night. You were already strong. That night, you stopped using your strength to keep a cruel man comfortable.”
My eyes burned.
Elaine lifted her glass.
“To discomfort.”
We laughed.
Then toasted.
After dinner, I walked everyone to the door.
The house felt warm.
Not haunted.
When the last car left, I stood in the entryway.
The place where David had thrown parties.
The place where police had walked in.
The place where fear had once waited.
I touched the wall.
Still mine.
May you like
Still standing.
So was I.
