Chapter 9 - The Broken Olive Branch
In November, the weather turned cold, and the first snow of the season began to fall.
One afternoon, while Hannah was at school, I received a notification on my phone. It was an email from Brenda.
I hesitated before opening it, my hand hovering over the screen. Andrew was at work, but I decided to read it anyway.
Jenna,
I am writing to you because Andrew has blocked my email and my phone number. I am living in a tiny apartment, and my arthritis is acting up because of the cold. I can barely afford my heating bill. I know I made a mistake on the Fourth of July. I know I shouldn't have left Hannah. But I am an old woman, Jenna. I am your husband's mother. Surely, after all this time, you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
I don't expect things to go back to how they were, but I want to see my granddaughter. I want to buy her a Christmas present. Please, talk to Andrew. Tell him I am sorry. Tell him his mother needs him.
I stared at the screen. For a split second, a tiny pang of pity tugged at my heart. She was an old woman, and she was struggling.
But then, the memory of that hot July day came rushing back. I saw the raw, weeping wound on my daughter’s heel. I heard her small, trembling voice apologizing for being "difficult." I remembered the absolute indifference on Brenda’s face when we asked where our child was.
Brenda wasn't sorry because she had hurt Hannah. She was sorry because she was cold, poor, and lonely. Her apology was a currency she was trying to use to buy back her comfortable life.
I printed the email out and left it on the kitchen counter for Andrew to see when he got home.
When Andrew walked in, he greeted me with a kiss, hung up his coat, and immediately noticed the paper. He read it silently, his face expressionless.
When he finished, he walked over to the trash can, lifted the lid, and dropped the paper inside.
"Are you going to reply?" I asked quietly.
"No," Andrew said. "A real apology requires accountability. She didn't take accountability. She blamed her age, her arthritis, and the cold. She tried to manipulate you because she knows I’m a brick wall."
"What about her heating bill?" I asked. "Are you worried?"
Andrew sat down at the table, taking my hands in his. "Jenna, my mother has a pension. She has social security. She has enough money to live comfortably if she budget properly. She is struggling now because she spent her entire life relying on me to fund her luxury while she treated my family like dirt. She is experiencing the natural consequences of her own choices."
He looked out the window at the falling snow.
May you like
"I spent thirty years trying to earn her approval, trying to be the perfect son. And all it got me was a daughter abandoned on a sidewalk. I am done. The olive branch is broken, and I’m not going to mend it."
I leaned over and hugged him tightly, marveling at the strength of the man I had married. He had broken the cycle of generational abuse and manipulation, and in doing so, he had saved our family.
