Chapter 15
Marcella stayed away for seven months.
Then Vivia asked about her.
Not because she missed the slap.
Children can remember harm and still remember birthdays, stories, and people who once braided their hair.
“Where Aunt Marcella?”
“Living somewhere else.”
“Why?”
I reminded her gently.
Vivia nodded.
“She still mean?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
“Can we see?”
I did not answer immediately.
She noticed.
“You scared?”
Children are cruelly accurate.
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
That settled it.
Fear shared openly was easier than pretending one of us did not have it.
The meeting happened in our garden.
Rafe nearby.
No audience.
Marcella arrived in a simple dress.
No diamonds.
No family pin.
Vivia stayed beside me.
Marcella crouched several feet away.
“I’m sorry.”
Vivia stared.
“For slap?”
“Yes.”
“For Mommy?”
Marcella’s face broke.
“Yes.”
Vivia frowned.
“You make Mommy crash?”
Marcella looked at me.
I did not rescue her.
She answered carefully.
“I made choices that scared your mommy. Someone followed her because I told him to. Then something terrible happened.”
Vivia processed that.
“Bad choice.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“You tell Daddy?”
Marcella cried.
“No.”
Vivia looked disappointed.
That expression hurt Marcella more than anger would have.
Then Vivia asked:
“You hate dress?”
Marcella shook her head.
“No.”
“Why try take?”
Marcella looked at the ground.
“Because I was scared of the truth inside it.”
Vivia considered that.
Then said:
“USB not inside anymore.”
A tiny smile escaped me.
Marcella laughed through tears.
“No.”
Vivia did not hug her.
She did not forgive her.
She picked a flower from the garden and handed it to her.
That was all.
Marcella accepted it like something sacred.
When she left, Vivia asked:
“She come tomorrow?”
“Only if you want.”
Vivia thought.
“Not tomorrow.”
May you like
“Okay.”
Healing did not need a schedule.
