Checks the locks every night.Always.Without fail.And every time he does, something inside me settles.A month passes like that.A month of rebuilding.Of breathing again.Of learning how to exist without constantly waiting for the world to fall apart.
And then—the letter comes.
Certified.My name on the front.The return address makes my stomach drop.I stare at it for a long time before opening it.
Quinn is at school.
Tucker is in the kitchen, fixing something on the cabinet hinge that doesn’t even need fixing anymore.I sit at the table.And open it.Legal documents slide out first.My hands shake as I read.
Termination of parental rights.
Clint’s name.
Signed.
Filed.
Final.
My breath catches.
“What is it?”Tucker asks, his voice already shifting.
I don’t answer right away.I can’t.The words won’t come.Because beneath the documents is a letter.
Handwritten.I unfold it slowly.And read.
Lucy,
I don’t expect forgiveness.I don’t deserve it.But I need you to know I see it now.
The damage.The fear.The way I broke something in you I had no right to touch.
I told myself for years it was love.That I was protecting you.Keeping you close.But that wasn’t love.That was control.
I did love you.In my own way.But it wasn’t the kind of love you or Quinn deserved.
And I know now I can’t fix that.So I’m letting you go.Legally.Completely.No more running.No more looking over your shoulder because of me.
Take care of her.Be better than I was.
—Clint
I don’t realize I’m crying until the paper blurs in my hands.Not sobbing.Not breaking.Just quiet tears.The kind that come from something finally ending.
Tucker is beside me before I even look up.“What is it?”
I hand him the papers.He reads fast.Efficient.His jaw tightens slightly.But not in anger.Not like before.Something else.Something controlled.He sets the documents down carefully.
“He signed them.”
I nod.“He gave up his rights.”
Tucker watches me closely.“How do you feel?”
I laugh softly through the tears.“I don’t know.”Relief.Sadness.Closure.All tangled together.
“He wrote a letter,” I say.
