Chapter 15
The music box belonged to my mother.
I repaired that too.
Not well.
Sofia had been better with small mechanisms.
Theo watched me struggle.
“Mommy fix?”
“She would’ve.”
He nodded.
“Mommy good at stuff.”
“Yes.”
“Grandma didn’t like Mommy?”
I stopped.
Someone had told him.
“Who said that?”
“Elena.”
Fair.
My sister had answered honestly.
“Did Grandma make Mommy boat break?”
There it was.
Too soon.
But once a child asks, lies become another injury.
“She helped make something unsafe.”
Theo stared.
“Why?”
“Because they were angry.”
“That’s bad.”
“Yes.”
“Did Grandma say sorry?”
“No.”
He thought.
Then:
“Maybe later.”
Maybe.
I did not correct him.
Hope did not require access.
Later that evening I found Sofia’s photograph beneath his pillow again.
He had asked for it himself.
Good.
The blanket too.
The fox.
The airplane.
I returned every item from Winifred’s storage box.
Except one.
The ledger.
That stayed with me.
Not to remind Theo.
To remind myself.
One night I read it again.
CRYING FOR MOTHER — 3 DAYS.
ASKED FOR FATHER — 2 DAYS.
REFUSED KISS — 1 WEEK.
The reasons looked absurd once removed from authority.
That was the frightening thing about abusive systems.
Inside the system, rules sound inevitable.
Outside it, they look ridiculous.
I tore out every page.
Not because I wanted to erase what happened.
Because Theo should never inherit a book defining love as something adults can confiscate.
I kept the cover.
Empty.
One day maybe he would use it for drawings.
Something ordinary.
Something chosen.
May you like
Not every object of pain needs a shrine.
Some deserve a new purpose.
