Chapter 12 Bittersweet
342 Words
The judge gave him 2 years.
Manslaughter. Leaving the scene.
“Because you turned yourself in,” the DA said. “Because the victim asked for your help.”
Two years.
Not forever. But long enough to hurt.
I was there every week.
We didn’t talk about that night for the first six months.
We talked about books. About the paper stars he learned to fold in his cell.
About Lila.
About how much she would’ve hated all of this.
“I’m sorry,” he said every time.
“I know,” I said every time.
On the day he got out, I was waiting at the gates.
No hoodie. No hiding.
Just me.
He looked different. Older. Quieter.
He stopped two feet from me. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to come closer.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said back.
We didn’t hug. Not yet.
We just walked.
To the river. To the place we scattered her ashes.
I had a new paper star in my hand. Sheet music.
His favorite song.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said.
“I don’t,” I said. And then: “But I don’t hate you either.”
He nodded. Swallowed.
“That’s more than I deserve.”
We stood there for a long time.
Two people and one ghost between us.
But for the first time, the ghost didn’t feel like a wall.
She felt like a bridge.
“I’m going to keep going to therapy,” he said.
“I’m going to keep playing her songs,” I said.
“And I’m going to keep showing up,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”
I looked at him. The man who ruined me.
The man who saved me.
The man who was there when she died.
“Okay,” I said.
_We didn’t get a happy ending. We got a honest one. And for the first time in three years, that felt like enough._
---
*End of Book: THE GIFT*
---
- Writer
