“And Sarah?”
I went quiet.
“Sarah didn’t choose to have that man as her father,” Dr. Morton said gently. “She didn’t choose his actions. She certainly didn’t choose for her father to kill your wife.”
“But she chose to lie about it.”
“Did she? Or did she make a human mistake out of fear?” She leaned forward slightly. “Mr. Valdez, I’m not saying what Sarah did was right. But I am asking you to consider: if you’d learned that your parent had committed a terrible crime, how long would it take you to find the words to confess that to someone you cared about?”
I thought about it. Tried to imagine discovering my father had destroyed someone’s family and then having to look that person in the eye and admit it.
I didn’t know how long it would take.
But I knew it wouldn’t be easy.
“You’re holding Sarah responsible for her father’s sins,” Dr. Morton continued. “And in doing so, you’re punishing your daughter for something neither of them had control over.”
“Lily has nothing to do with this.” Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.
“Doesn’t she? You removed Sarah from Lily’s life because of something Sarah’s father did. Lily lost someone she loved because you couldn’t separate the daughter from the crime.”
The truth of it sat heavy in my chest.
“Accidents are inevitable,” Dr. Morton said quietly. “The drunk driver made a choice that led to tragedy. But what happened after—Lily going silent, you shutting down, Sarah lying out of fear—those were all responses to that initial trauma. And now you have a choice: do you stay trapped in that moment, or do you choose to move forward?”
I stared at my hands. Thought about Joana. About what she would say if she could see me now.
She’d tell me I was being an idiot—and she’d be right.
She’d tell me that punishing Sarah for her father’s mistakes was cruel.
She’d tell me to forgive myself for not being there that day, for not driving instead of her, for surviving when she didn’t.
She’d tell me to let go.
I rescheduled my days to attend every single one of Lily’s ballet classes—a small penance for the damage I’d done.
Sat in the observation window and watched my daughter dance. She was good—really good—and I could see Joana in her movements. The same grace, the same joy when the music swelled.
But I could see Sarah there too. In the way Lily held herself, the confidence she’d gained from those months of therapy. Sarah had given my daughter her voice back, and I’d repaid her by destroying her.
Lily noticed me watching more. Started performing for me instead of just going through the motions. Would look at the window after completing a difficult combination, checking to see if I’d seen.
I always had—because watching her dance was the only thing that made me feel like I hadn’t ruined everything beyond repair.
One day after class, she climbed into the car and said, “Daddy, can I ask you something?” Her voice was soft, careful — the way she spoke when something mattered.
“Of course.”
“My instructor says there’s a competition in two months. For my age group. She thinks I should enter.”
“Do you want to?”
“Maybe. But only if you promise something first.”
I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “What’s that?”
“If I win… you have to make Ms. Sarah come back.”
