Chapter 13 - Anna Was Wrong About One Thing
Lily turned fifteen.
On her birthday, Ethan gave her no jewelry.
She was glad.
The sapphire remained locked away.
Anna had said sixteen.
They would wait.
Instead Ethan gave Lily a restored copy of Anna’s brown leather notebook.
Not the original.
That belonged with the case archive until all proceedings ended.
A scanned reproduction.
Every page.
Including the grocery lists.
Lily spent hours reading.
She found something unexpected.
Anna had been wrong.
Not morally.
Factually.
Several times.
In one entry Anna suspected the wrong vendor manager.
Later she corrected herself.
In another she thought Vivian had moved $12,000 that turned out to be a legitimate emergency payment.
Anna wrote:
I hate being wrong when I’m frightened. It makes me want to become more certain instead of less.
Lily read that line three times.
Her mother had not been a perfect investigator.
She had followed evidence.
Revised conclusions.
Admitted mistakes.
That made Lily love her more.
For three years after death, Anna had existed in everyone else’s stories.
Saint.
Potential thief.
Unhappy wife.
Perfect mother.
Victim.
Now the notebook returned contradictions.
Anna could be impatient.
Jealous.
Funny.
Petty.
She complained about Ethan’s snoring.
Wrote that Lily was being “spectacularly dramatic” at age twelve.
Lily laughed aloud.
Noah came running.
“What?”
“Mom called me dramatic.”
“You are.”
“Go away.”
He grabbed the notebook.
Lily chased him.
For ten minutes, Anna was not a tragedy.
She was their mother.
That evening Lily asked Ethan:
“Did Mom ever lie to you?”
He looked surprised.
“Of course.”
“About what?”
“She bought a seven-hundred-dollar chair and told me it was three hundred.”
Lily laughed.
“Seriously?”
“I found the receipt.”
“What happened?”
“I pretended not to.”
“Why?”
“It was an excellent chair.”
They laughed.
Then Lily became serious.
“I think I made Mom too perfect.”
Ethan nodded.
“I did too.”
“That helped Vivian.”
He considered.
“Yes.”
If Anna became perfect after death, every contradiction felt like betrayal.
Vivian had exploited that.
She could destabilize Ethan simply by claiming Anna wanted to leave.
The actual Anna was more resilient.
She had doubts.
Anger.
Mistakes.
And still loved them.
Truth made grief sturdier.
Meanwhile Vivian served her sentence and entered supervised release.
Her attorney informed Ethan because of financial restitution arrangements.
No contact restrictions existed after release.
Ethan proactively told the children.
Lily stiffened.
“Can she come here?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I told her in writing she may not enter the property or contact either of you without permission.”
“Is that legal?”
“It’s a boundary.”
“What if she ignores it?”
“Then we respond.”
Lily noticed the language.
Not: She won’t.
Not: Everything is safe.
If something happened, they would respond.
That was more believable.
Noah asked:
“Can I see her?”
Lily turned.
“No.”
Ethan said:
“That’s Noah’s decision too.”
Lily looked betrayed.
“She hurt us.”
“Yes.”
“He’s eleven.”
“Yes.”
“You’d let him?”
“Only with his therapist’s guidance and supervision.”
Noah interrupted.
“I didn’t say I want to now.”
Lily crossed her arms.
“Good.”
Noah frowned.
“Don’t decide for me.”
The words echoed something larger.
Lily looked at him.
He continued:
“You hate when people decide things for you.”
That was painfully true.
Lily walked away.
Later she apologized.
“I’m scared she’ll trick you.”
Noah shrugged.
“Maybe.”
“You still want to?”
“Someday.”
“Why?”
He thought.
“I want to know if she’s still the same.”
Lily hated the question because she wanted Vivian frozen forever at her worst.
If Vivian changed, what did that require from Lily?
Nothing, she eventually realized.
Another person’s growth did not create an obligation.
Vivian could become better.
Lily could still never see her again.
Both could be true.
May you like
That realization felt like freedom.
---
