Chapter 5 - The Apology That Wasn't Free
In late March, two weeks before the eviction deadline, a heavy envelope arrived via certified mail at our front door. It wasn't from a lawyer; it was handwritten on yellow legal pad paper in Lorraine’s elegant, shaky cursive.
Dear Travis and Maya,
I am writing this because I have nowhere else to turn, but also because I have spent ninety days in a house that feels like a tomb. I was proud. I was bitter because I felt you were replacing your father’s legacy with a new family that didn't start with me. I was wrong, and I was cruel to a child who did nothing but offer me respect.
I am not asking for your money. I am asking for a chance to apologize to Zia—not over the phone, and not through a letter. Face-to-face, if she will allow it.
- Lorraine
Travis and I sat at the kitchen table for an hour discussing it. We decided the decision shouldn't belong to us alone. That evening, we sat down with Zia and read the letter to her in plain language.
"Do you want to see her, Zia?" I asked softly, rubbing her back. "You don't have to. You never have to see her again if it makes you feel unsafe or sad."
May you like
Zia looked at the small red velvet box, which now sat on her bookshelf as a reminder of her own agency.
"I want to see her," Zia said quietly. "But not at her house. And not at our house. At the park."
