Chapter 18 - The Boundary Is Hers

We sat in the car for a long time before Mara spoke.
"I'm going back to counseling," she said. "Alone, for now. And I want us to talk to someone together later. Not because your mother says I'm sick. Because I want my life back."
"Okay."
"I also want the nursery clock gone. I don't want my daughter growing up in a room that feels watched."
"We'll preserve it where Sofia says, and then it stays away from us."
"And your mother never gets to be alone with Elsie. Not next year. Not because somebody starts crying at Thanksgiving. Not because Dana thinks we should keep the family together."
"Agreed."
Mara looked at me, testing the word. "Even if she apologizes?"
"An apology doesn't make a baby safe."
We went home when Sofia said it was reasonable to do so with the locks and security updated. I changed the garage code myself, checked every account again, and moved my work laptop out of the kitchen where Mom had always been able to use it. Dana helped us carry boxes, but she didn't try to take charge. She asked what we wanted and waited for an answer.
The weeks that followed were slower than a courtroom scene and harder than I expected. Elsie had a cold. Mara cried while folding laundry one afternoon and laughed at a ridiculous commercial the next. I took night feedings and learned how to settle our daughter without calling Mara into the room. When Mara woke afraid, I stayed beside her.
My supervisor brought me back to work after reviewing the facts available to him. A few clients still avoided me. The internet didn't publish a correction when the truth emerged. I learned not to measure our safety by whether strangers liked us.
One evening Dana came over with groceries. She asked if I thought Mom would ever understand what she'd done.
"I don't know," I said.
Dana hesitated. "The investigator told Sofia they're interviewing her about the documents. She asked him if saying she was sorry would make it stop."
I looked toward the nursery, where Mara was singing softly to Elsie.
May you like
"That's the problem," I said. "She's still asking what makes it stop for her."
Then Sofia called with news: Mom wanted to send Mara a letter.