Wade. Caroline came to my house that evening, the envelope trembling in her hand. She looked pale, the old shadows flickering briefly in her eyes. I made us both a cup of tea, the ritual grounding us in the present. She placed the unopened letter on the kitchen table.
He is up for parole, she said, her voice barely a whisper. He wants me to write a letter of support. He says he has found religion. He says he is a changed man. I sat down beside her, not touching the letter. What do you want to do? I don’t know. Part of me feels guilty if I don’t.
What if he really has changed?
What if I am keeping him in prison by not helping him?
I looked at her, seeing the old traps snapping shut around her mind.
Caroline, look at me.
She met my gaze.
His parole is not your burden to carry.
You are not the warden of his soul.
But he is Hudson’s father.
And he was my husband.
And those are facts, I agreed gently.
But they do not obligate you to sacrifice your peace for his freedom.
If you write the letter, do it because you genuinely believe he has changed.
Not because you are afraid of the guilt.
She stared at the envelope for a long time.
I don’t know if I believe he has changed.
I only know that I have.
That is all you need to know, I told her.
Part 24
The next day, Caroline returned to my house.
She looked lighter, as if a physical weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
She placed a piece of paper on the table.
I wrote to the parole board, she said.
What did you say?
I told them the truth.
I told them about the abuse, the gambling, the fear.
I told them that I do not feel safe with him, and that I do not support his release.
I told them that my son is finally thriving without him.
She took a deep breath, her eyes shining.
I didn’t say a single vindictive word.
I just stated the facts.
I am so proud of you, I said, and I meant it with every fiber of my being.
You protected yourself.
And you protected Hudson.
She smiled, a sad but resolute expression.
It felt terrible.
And it felt amazing.
That is the sound of a boundary holding, I told her.
It always feels a little uncomfortable at first.
But it keeps you safe.
She nodded, picking up her tea.
Thank you, Mum.
For not telling me what to do.
For just helping me find my own answer.
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
I am just the mirror, Caroline.
You are the one doing the seeing.
