The Grave Nobody Visited

On the third anniversary of my daughter's death, the woman who ran her over was released from prison. She began appearing in front of me day after day, crying and begging for my forgiveness. One day bringing cake, the next day bringing fruit, driving me to the brink of a mental breakdown with her relentless penance. My husband wrapped his arms around my trembling body in heartache. "Don't be afraid. Leave it to me." After that, she truly disappeared for two years. Until that day, when my husband took me to the psychiatric hospital for a routine check-up, as usual. I went downstairs early, only to hear suppressed sobbing at the stairwell corner. "If I can't get Mrs. Worthington's forgiveness, I might as well die." And the man I had deeply loved for ten years was holding her tightly in his arms. I stood in place, neither crying nor causing a scene. I just suddenly felt that this five-year-long act of redemption had come to an end. ***** I held onto the cold staircase handrail and walked down step by step. Leander Worthington released her almost immediately, and Vanessa Brooks stepped back in unison. In a fraction of a second, their postures shifted back into an illusion of awkward, distant politeness. Only her red, swollen eyes and the small dark wet patch on his lapel betrayed everything that had just occurred. I stood at the foot of the stairs without making a sound. Leander walked over with long strides and took the bag from my hand. "Why did you come down early? Don't be angry, I'll send her away right now." He turned to Vanessa, his tone carrying a touch of impatience. "Didn't I tell you not to come here anymore? My wife is unwell and cannot handle any distress." Vanessa lowered her head, tears falling once again. "I... I just wanted to tell Mrs. Worthington that I'm sorry to her face." "Enough," Leander interrupted her. "If you were truly sorry, you'd stay as far away from us as possible." Looking at the way he was standing up for me, I suddenly felt a wave of trance. I almost believed that the scene I had witnessed at the stairwell corner was merely a feverish illusion from my illness. How could the man who had held Vanessa so tightly in his arms be the same husband standing before me now, coldly driving her away for my sake? "We're going to be late for the appointment," I said softly. Leander tightened his grip on my hand. "Alright, wait here. I'll get the car right away." As he spoke, he looked back at Vanessa, his voice dropping into a cold register. "What are you still standing here for? If my wife sees you again, don't blame me for being ruthless." Vanessa let out a timid response and retreated toward the wall. Leander pulled out his phone. "Margaux, wait a moment. Let me call a cab for her first." I watched as he deftly opened the ride-hailing app, entered the destination, and held the car door open for Vanessa, habitually placing his palm over the top door frame to shield her head. That gesture was all too familiar to me. Many years ago, when I was heavily pregnant and moving around with difficulty, he would guard the top of my head with his hand every time I got in or out of a car. 'Can't let my baby girl or her mother bump their heads,' he used to say. Yet now, he was protecting the woman who had run our daughter over. Vanessa waved to Leander through the car window. Leander instinctively raised his hand, then seemed to remember something and froze midair. He turned his head to look at me as I stood expressionless, explaining in a low voice, "Margaux, don't overthink it. She used to be my secretary, after all. If something happened to her on the road, we wouldn't be able to wash our hands of it." I clenched my hands tightly and did not reply. The car started slowly, the afternoon sunlight angling through the window. I suddenly remembered that the afternoon Gracie died was just like this. She had held up her kindergarten craft, running toward me and saying she wanted to give me a little red flower. And then, that out-of-control car had rushed out. When Vanessa got out of the car that day, she didn't run, nor did she scream. She simply knelt in front of me, saying she was sorry over and over again. She pleaded guilty, accepted her sentence, paid compensation, and served her time in prison. Everyone said she had already received the punishment she deserved. They advised me to move on, saying we were still young and could have another child, and that life had to go on. But I only wanted my Gracie. I only wanted my Gracie back in my arms.