Chapter 8 - The Price of Silence
A month after the sentencing, I received a letter from my father.
It wasn't typed, and it wasn't written on the thick, expensive stationery he usually used for business. It was written on a simple piece of lined paper, his handwriting shaky and uneven.
Sarah,
I don't expect you to forgive us. I’m not writing this to ask for that.
I’m writing to tell you that I closed my business last week. After everything came out, I realized I had been living a lie just as much as Jake had. I was using his 'successes' to ignore my own failures, and in doing so, I failed the only daughter I have.
You are not unstable. You are the strongest, most intelligent person I have ever known, and I am deeply ashamed that I never told you that when it mattered.
We are moving to a smaller apartment in the city. We sold the house to help pay off Jake's court-ordered restitution to the Parkers. It was the only right thing to do.
If you ever want to talk, we are here. But if you don't, I understand.
With all my love, Dad
I read the letter twice, sitting on my back porch as the autumn leaves drifted onto the lawn.
May you like
I didn't cry. But for the first time in years, the anger inside me didn't feel cold anymore. It was beginning to melt, leaving behind a quiet, tentative sense of peace.
I folded the letter and placed it inside my desk drawer, next to my official commendation from the Director of National Intelligence. Two different kinds of validation, both earned through fire.
