You and I don’t need to be enemies, Shae.
We don’t need to pretend we’re different kinds of women.
She ends with:
Call me.
Or don’t.
Either way, I’m proud of you.
Family finds each other eventually.
xo Iris
I sit there for a long time.
Too long.
This isn’t how threats usually feel. There’s no adrenaline. No urgency. No obvious move to counter.
This is patient.
I fold the letter carefully. Once. Twice. Thirds. I line the edges up like I’m filing it instead of shaking.
I tell myself I’m not afraid.
But my body doesn’t listen.
My stomach feels hollow. My hands feel unfamiliar—like they belong to someone who just realized the mirror doesn’t stop at the face.
I’ve always known what monsters look like.
They look like my father when he apologized too late.
They look like men who confuse confession with absolution.
I’ve fought those monsters.
This one?
This one sounds like me.
She doesn’t want money. Or silence. Or leverage.
She wants connection.
She wants recognition.
She wants a seat at the table.
I think about Sophie again, and this time I don’t push it away.
I loved her.
I loved her and it didn’t make me better.
I loved her and she still died.
