Chapter 17
Two years passed.
My scars faded.
My limp mostly disappeared.
The nightmares came less often.
Daniel wrote once from prison.
I returned it unopened.
Vanessa wrote never.
That suited me.
Celia continued sending quarterly restitution payments and short letters with no demands.
One winter morning, I invited her to meet me in the chapel.
She arrived shaking.
Older.
Smaller.
Still my aunt.
Not my safe person.
Those can be different.
She looked at me.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“I’m not sure what this is.”
“That’s fair.”
We sat beneath my parents’ names.
She cried quietly.
“I loved you,” she said. “But I loved belonging to power more.”
That sentence felt like truth.
Ugly.
Useful.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I said.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I want you in my life.”
“I know.”
“But the camp can use your help.”
She nodded.
“I will give it.”
“No speeches. No photos. No Somor family redemption story.”
A tiny smile crossed her face.
“You sound like your grandfather.”
“Good.”
Celia volunteered with paperwork, far from children at first.
She accepted every boundary.
Trust did not bloom.
May you like
It sent up one cautious green shoot.
That was enough for the season.
