Chapter 9 - The Letter from Columbia
Emily,
I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't even know if you’ll read this.
The first few weeks here were a nightmare. I spent every night crying, wondering how my life could have gone so wrong so fast. I hated you. I blamed you for everything. I told myself that if you hadn't been so sensitive about the wedding, none of this would have happened.
But they make us do therapy here. Group sessions. And for the first time in my life, I had to sit in a room with people who had no reason to lie to me or try to impress me. They looked at my story and they told me the truth.
I was a thief, Emily. I was a bully.
I looked at the photos of my wedding—the ones the photographer finally sent to Mom. And I didn't see a perfect day. I saw a woman who was so consumed by her own vanity that she struck a child. I saw the look on Lily’s face. It haunts me every time I close my eyes.
I am so sorry, Emily. I am sorry for what I did to Lily, and I am sorry for how I treated you our entire lives. You were always the strong one. You didn't need the clothes, or the money, or the approval of the people at the country club to know who you were.
I hope one day, many years from now, you’ll let me say this to you in person.
With love,
Vanessa.
Emily stood by the mailbox, the wind moving through the Spanish moss above her.
She didn't cry. The anger that had fueled her for the last year had gone, replaced by a quiet, deep sense of peace.
She walked over to the small fire pit in the corner of the garden, dropped the letter onto the cold ash, and struck a single match.
May you like
She watched the yellow paper curl and turn to black soot, the wind carrying the ashes away over the trees.
She didn't need to carry her sister's guilt, and she didn't need to hold onto the anger. The debt had been paid, the truth had been spoken, and the past was finally where it belonged.
