Chapter 44 - THE TRUTH ABOUT MARCUS
Corinne mailed the photograph to Rachel’s office.
No note.
No return message.
The image showed Laura standing outside St. Matthew’s with six-week-old Maisie asleep against her chest.
On the back, Laura had written:
This is what you stay away from. There will be no next warning.
My stomach twisted.
It was not affection.
It was evidence of escalation.
A mother drawing a line.
Corinne had kept it for more than a decade.
“Why?” Maisie asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Ask.”
I did not want to.
Then I remembered that not wanting an answer was different from not needing one.
Rachel sent the question through approved channels.
Corinne replied:
Because it was the first time Laura made me see the baby as a person instead of leverage. I hated the photograph because of that. I kept it because I also couldn’t throw it away.
I read the answer to Maisie.
She stared at the photo.
“She thought I was leverage?”
“At first, yes.”
“And then?”
“Apparently this complicated it.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Yes.”
Maisie traced the edge of the sleeve.
“Can I have it?”
“It’s yours.”
She placed it beside Laura’s other photos.
The old version of me would have hidden the writing on the back.
The new version left it visible.
Laura’s protection.
Corinne’s shame.
Maisie’s history.
All on one object.
Then another question emerged.
Why had Laura mailed a photograph directly to Corinne if she was already seeking protection?
Rachel found the date.
Three weeks before the protective filing.
Laura had tried one last private warning before involving courts.
Mistake?
Maybe.
Human?
Absolutely.
Maisie asked:
“Should she have gone to the police sooner?”
“Yes.”
“Would that have saved her?”
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
No spiraling.
No alternate-universe obsession.
She was better at uncertainty than I had been at forty.
Then she said:
“Can I ask Corinne something else?”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“Did she ever like Mom?”
Interesting question.
We sent it.
Corinne answered two days later.
Yes. Before the money. Before fear. Laura was difficult, funny, demanding, generous when she wanted to be, and impossible to intimidate until she became ashamed of something. I admired her before I resented her. Then I used what I knew about her against her.
Maisie read it twice.
“Mom had a lot of people who loved her badly.”
I stared.
“Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“Therapy.”
“Expensive but effective.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“I don’t want to ask Corinne anything else.”
“Okay.”
“For now.”
“Okay.”
She put both letters away.
That night I realized I no longer needed her to say “never.”
Not yet was enough.
May you like
Sometimes maybe was enough.
Sometimes uncertainty was simply the future remaining open.
