PRIVATE
I looked at Douglas.
“May I?”
He nodded.
I opened it.
My mother’s handwriting filled three pages.
I read the first line.
Dear Margaret,
There are mistakes a person commits because she is cruel, and mistakes she commits because she is afraid. I have spent years trying to decide which kind mine was.
I covered my mouth.
Douglas watched me.
“Keep reading.”
My eyes moved over the page.
My mother confessed that she’d intercepted my letters.
She admitted writing the false letter telling Douglas I’d found someone else.
She admitted lying to me about Douglas.
But then the letter changed.
I read aloud.
“Douglas was nineteen years old and convinced that love could solve every difficulty. Hannah was nineteen years old and even more convinced.”
A small sound escaped me.
That sounded exactly like my mother.
Even her confession had opinions.
I continued.
“I believed I was protecting my daughter from a life of struggle.”
