Chapter 12
Sofia’s hands healed.
The redness disappeared.
The memory took longer.
She hated sinks for a while.
Not all sinks.
Deep metal kitchen sinks.
The sound of pans dropped into them made her shoulders tighten.
We changed nothing dramatically.
No destroying the kitchen.
No symbolic renovation.
She eventually walked in herself.
One afternoon I found her making pasta with Lily.
Copper pan on the stove.
Normal.
Delia’s old blue book sat on the counter.
I frowned.
“Why?”
Sofia smiled.
“Shopping list.”
She had torn out the punishment pages.
I looked horrified.
“That was family history.”
“It was garbage.”
Fair.
The remaining blank pages now held groceries.
Milk.
Bread.
Paintbrush cleaner.
Strawberries.
The book that once recorded punishments became domestic nonsense.
Better use.
I did not preserve every cruel artifact for future reverence.
Some history deserves documentation.
Some deserves demotion.
The original pages were archived separately by Rafe because I am not completely reckless.
May you like
Sofia rolled her eyes.
Compromise.
