Then, there was another night when….
But this time I talked during therapy. I learned how to put one foot in front of the other again.
As I grew up, I dated a few men, kept them at arm’s length, and convinced myself that was enough.
I was going through life as a vet, working with ranchers in California’s Central Valley, when Mac called.
He told me Daddy was gone, but he’d left me his house and his practice. He said there was a letter. I flew to Aspen the day after.
Mac gave me the letter when he walked me through the will a day after the funeral. He left me alone in his office at his ranch, where he conducted his legal business, with a comforting squeeze of his hand on my shoulder.
Sarah,
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. There are things I should have said to you years ago, but I was too stubborn…and too much of a coward.
I know the truth now. About what happened. About what was done to you. And I know you told me the truth all those years ago.
You came to me for protection, for comfort, for love, and I turned you away.
I called you a liar.
I sided with someone who didn’t deserve my trust, and I let my pride be more important than my own daughter.
I can’t explain to you why I was so ready to believe the worst of you. All I can tell you is that I was wrong. So wrong it shames me to write the words.
I’ve replayed that day in my mind more times than I can count.
Every time, I wish I could go back, take your hands in mine, and tell you that I would stand with you, fight with you, take care of you. But wishes don’t change the truth: I failed you when you needed me most.
I can’t give you back those years. I can’t take away the hurt or the loneliness. But I can give you this—the clinic, the house, everything I built. It’s yours. Not because I think it makes up for what I did, but because you’ve earned more than I ever gave you.
I don’t expect your forgiveness. I wouldn’t know what to do with it if you gave it to me because I don’t deserve it.
But I want you to know that I am sorry, from the deepest part of me. Sorry for not protecting you. Sorry for not believing you. Sorry for every mile you had to put between us just to survive.
You are stronger than I ever was and know that I love you, even though I let you down and am not worthy enough to say those words.
— Dad
P.S. I understand that you will want to sell everything and move on. But I hope that you’ll come back and claim your home. I know how much you love Wildflower Canyon and how it broke your heart to leave. But nomatter what you do, know that this time, I stand with you.
I’ve read that letter a million times.
Every time, I smooth out the creases like it might somehow make the words mean more.
I want it to. God, I want it to.
But even I can’t deny the truth—the apology came far too late. He let his pride win, and in doing so, he let me down in the worst way possible. Worse than that day ten years ago because now he knew the truth and still did nothing. Instead, he hid behind a will, behind paper and ink, and death.
Maybe I was doing the same thing by coming here, letting pride win over common sense and mental health by not selling it all and pocketing the money I don’t need.
On the darkest days, I don’t remember what the hell I’m doing back in Wildflower Canyon, back in the house where my life splintered apart.
But when I’m clear-headed, I know why I’m here.
For the clinic, yes. But I can be a vet anywhere.
I’m here because I want justice. I want the truth to come out. I want the people who turned their backs on me to see me standing tall. I want them to know that I survived, that I’m thriving.
