“I read them all,” she continued. “Then I confronted Mom, and she finally told me the truth. That it was HER choice to cut ties.”
I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing. Years of silence, and now the truth decided to show up.
“After we had an epic fight about that, she told me you’d actually been a wonderful father. It’s not that she talked crap about you. It’s just …” She shrugged one shoulder. “She never really talked about you at all. I think she thought she could just erase you from the outskirts of my life.”
Erase me. Like I was a mistake she could just white-out and pretend never happened.
“But once we started talking, she had nothing but good things to say.” Gwen met my eyes. “She pulled out photo albums. Showed me pictures of us together.”
Something painful unwound in my ribs. Photos I hadn’t seen in over a decade. Moments I’d only been able to replay in my memory, faded and worn at the edges like old film.
Gwen squared her shoulders, and for a second, I saw myself in the stubborn set of her jaw. “I decided I wanted to be here for you on a day that was really important.”
I tilted my chin down, fighting the burn behind my eyes.
So many years, I’d waited to hear those words.
“Thank you for coming.” My own voice was barely a rasp. “It means more than you know.”
She nodded, twisting her fingers together.
“Did you mean it?” she asked quietly. “What you said up there. About regretting not being here for the last fourteen years.”
“Absolutely.”
I could see the word land. Could see something tight in her shoulders start to loosen.
“That man,” she said slowly. “The one you killed. He was hurting me, wasn’t he?”
My throat constricted.
“That’s why you never told me.” She wasn’t really asking. “You didn’t want me to know that I was …” She trailed off, unable to finish.
“I don’t know for certain what happened before I entered your bedroom,” I said carefully. “But even if I did, that information wouldn’t serve any purpose in your life except to hurt you.”
I stopped. Considered the words I’d just spoken. And realized they were exactly the kind of well-intentioned lie I’d been telling myself for years.
“Or so I thought,” I amended. “I should have been honest with you, Gwen. I should have trusted you to handle the truth. You deserved to know that your father didn’t just get into some random fight. You deserved to know why I made the choices I made.” I paused. “Even if those choices were wrong.”
She studied my face. Looking for something.
“For what it’s worth,” I continued, “I thought about you every single day. Every morning when I woke up. Every night before I fell asleep. You were the reason I kept going.”
Her eyes glistened.
The corrections officer shifted impatiently behind us, but I didn’t look away from my daughter.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” I said. “But I can’t leave this room without asking if there’s any way I can stay in touch with you. Even if it’s just letters. Even if?—”
“How about dinner?”
I blinked.
“After you’re released.” A tentative smile curved her lips. “I could have you over for dinner. If you want.”
A tear escaped down my cheek before I could stop it.
“Yeah,” I managed over my tight throat. “That sounds fantastic.”
