Chapter 17 - The Unsent Plea
The letter was a masterpiece of self-pity and historical revisionism.
> “Claire,
> I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, or if you’ve already thrown it away like everything else that reminds you of us. But your father and I are at our wit's end.
> The house is gone, Claire. The bank foreclosed last week. We have nowhere to go, and Vanessa is completely broken, locked in a cheap motel room with no money and no future. You have all the power now. You have Meridian, you have billions of dollars, and you have a foundation named after your family.
> Is it really worth destroying your own flesh and blood out of spite? All we ever wanted was for you girls to be happy. Please, as your mother, I am begging you—just one phone call. Just enough to help us secure a small apartment and settle Vanessa’s debts.
> Family is supposed to forgive.
> — Mother.”
I read the letter twice.
Family is supposed to forgive.
It was the exact same phrase Vanessa had captioned her champagne-soaked rooftop photos on the day my children were lowered into the ground. They weaponized the word "family" whenever they needed a shield, and treated it like an inconvenience whenever it required actual empathy.
I folded the letter neatly, placed it back into the envelope, and slid it into the crosscut shredder beside my desk.
Whirrrr.
May you like
In seconds, my mother’s plea was reduced to grey, unreadable dust.
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