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After talking with my sisters this morning, I know this is something that needs to happen. Olive needs this room as much as I did as a kid. If I were in trouble, this is where they’d find me curled up in a corner, either crying or reading one of the many books. Mom made sure there were shelves of books for all our different ages and interests. She was always so thoughtful.
Mabel has taken Olive, which gives me some time. I twist the knob and push the door open. The creak is exactly how I remember it—that sound would let me know Mom was coming into the room. The space is dark, and the curtains are drawn. The dusty scent hits my nose, and a sneeze assaults me.
I walk across the room to the curtains and pull them open one at a time. The sun lights up the room, and memories flood me. Dust is agitated in the air, so I swipe it away. Wow, this room is worse than I thought.
I go to the bookshelves lining the room’s walls and pull down the sheets covering them. Old photographs sit in frames on different shelves, but there’s no dust. They appear clean. I continue to work my way around and uncover the desk and furniture.
It almost feels back to normal. This room shouldn’t be shut off. The memory of Mom fills these walls. I take in the pictures—some are of Mom and Dad, some are the kids, and some are family ones. We had a great childhood, and I wish Mom was here when I was going through the stuff with Dad and Eli, things might have been different. She’d have been more level-headed. She was always better with feelings. Dad wasn’t great. He still isn’t.
I drop into the couch and take in the room. It’s bright and alive again, never to be closed off. I’ll have to wipe some of the surfaces down, but it all looks how it should. I remember spending time in here with Eli. We’d talk about our future together and what we both wanted to happen. Our life together didn’t resemble those dreams. He was a liar, and I need to work on letting go of those feelings and emotions of hurt he’s instilled in me.
I go back to my room and straight to my closet. I pull out a shoebox, go back to the library, and sit in the bay window, taking in the view behind the house. Green stretches across the landscape. There are trees, cattle in the yard, and horses. I can’t believe this is my home. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude crashes into me, almost suffocating me. I need to feel these emotions more and not wallow in my past. The past can’t hurt me anymore.
I place the box down in front of me on the seat. With trembling hands, I take off the lid to the memories that cause more pain than gratitude. This needs to happen, though. I can’t keep holding onto the letter and memories it holds, or it will ruin any chance I have of moving forward with my life.
As I glance inside, the first thing to catch my eye is a photograph of Eli and Olive. This was one of the last pictures I took of the two of them. I can’t erase him from her life because he’s her dad, and when she gets older, she’ll have questions. Most will be hard to answer, but his love for her was different from his love for me. I take the image out and put it aside.
Behind it is a gift—a necklace with the letters D and O on it. I never took it off from the moment he gave it to me. At first, there was just the D charm, and after Olive came along, I went and bought an O—another thing for her. My engagement ring and wedding band are also looped onto the necklace. I’m not even sure why I kept those, but I retained this box for Olive.
I come to the envelope. It’s white with off-white corners. My name is penned on it in his neat handwriting. I open it and pull two separate folded pieces of paper out. I release a slow breath. “I can do this.”
Slowly, I turn the pages over, and the waterworks start the moment I see my name on one and Olive’s on the other. Swiping away the tears, I blink a few times to clear my eyes and set Olive’s note aside, then unfold mine.
Dear Delilah,
I don’t know where to start. How about an apology? I have never been good at them. I’ve always been better at blaming and hurting you. For that, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. Sorry for how I treated you. Sorry for abandoning you and Olive. Just sorry.
When you read this, I’ll be gone, and you’ll be better for it. No more hurt or injury. You and Olive are safe from me now, and I have every hope she’ll become the wonderful young woman I know you’ll raise her to be.
I’ll keep this short.
I’m sorry.
Love,
Eli
A sob tears up my throat. My fist closes and scrunches up the note in my hand. How could he do this? How could he think that his daughter would be better off without him? He may not have been the best husband, but my goodness, I could clearly see his love for her in one single look when he actually took the time with her. I drop the letter to the floor and lean forward, putting my face in my hands.
A light knock at the door startles me. My head shoots up. Sybil stands there with Sebastian behind her, concern etched in the worry lines of his forehead. He rushes past Sybil, whose eyes are transfixed on me as though she can’t decide what to do. He pushes the box and contents aside and sits in front of me, his hands taking my face. He studies me a moment before saying, “What’s wrong?”
I can’t speak. All I can do is point to the floor where the scrunched-up letter now sits.
“Do you need anything, Dee?” Sybil stands beside me, her hand on my back. I’d told them about the letter this morning, and they’d all encouraged me to read it and then get rid of it.
It’s not something you need to cling to,they said.
They’re right.
Every word I read feels like a lie.
I want to be mad at him for what he’s done in abandoning his daughter. I hate him for it. My love for him is still there, but it’s not how it was in the beginning—it’s about the size of a grain of sand. I’ll get through this, and I will raise our daughter to be and do the best she can.
“No, thank you. I’m okay,” I whisper.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Thanks, Sybil.”
