Chapter 10 - Victoria's Letter
Two years after the trial, Victoria wrote to me from prison.
Claire,
I don't expect forgiveness.
I helped choose you.
I knew Daniel was married to me when he married you.
I moved your money.
I watched Margaret manipulate him and said nothing because I benefited.
I told myself you were rich enough to survive losing some of it.
That is how I made you less human in my mind.
I'm sorry.
Victoria
The phrase stayed with me.
Rich enough to survive.
People often used wealth to minimize harm.
As if having money made betrayal painless.
As if financial security meant emotional invulnerability.
I did survive.
But not because what they did was small.
Because I refused to let it define the rest of my life.
I didn't answer Victoria.
But I kept the letter.
Not as forgiveness.
As evidence of something different.
People could finally see what they had done once they stopped defending it.
Daniel wrote too.
I returned his unopened.
His story no longer required my participation.
Then something unexpected happened.
I met someone.
His name was Nathan Pierce.
Architect.
Forty-four.
Widowed.
And on our second date, before I even asked, he told me:
“My wife died four years ago. If we ever become serious, I want you to know you can ask me anything about her.”
I laughed.
He looked confused.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“You have no idea how reassuring documentation sounds to me.”
Eventually, I told him.
Everything.
He didn't say:
You should have known.
He said:
“That must have been terrifying.”
It was the correct response.
We took things slowly.
Painfully slowly by Nathan's standards.
He joked that getting security clearance for the Pentagon might be easier than getting a toothbrush into my mansion.
I told him that was probably true.
May you like
He respected it.
That was why, eventually, the toothbrush arrived.
