I stared at the message for a long time.
Gerald was making pancakes in my kitchen because he believed Saturday breakfast should be “structural.” I showed him the phone.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s an answer.”
I thought about the baby. Noah. A child born into the wreckage of our family’s lies, innocent of all of it.
I did not visit.
I did send a gift.
A small blanket. Soft blue. No note to Claire.
Only a card for the baby.
Noah,
May you always be loved without having to earn it.
Holly.
Claire never responded.
That was fine.
The blessing was not for her.
My mother tried to reach me many times.
Letters.
Emails.
Messages through relatives.
A handwritten card on my birthday.
The card said:
Holly,
A mother’s mistakes are still made from love. I hope one day you understand that.
Mom.
I read it once.
Then I placed it in a folder labeled Things I Do Not Have to Carry.
Dr. Larkin loved that.
Gerald loved it more.
“Can I make one of those folders?” he asked.
“You absolutely need one.”