Chapter 12: Madison
Madison made one final direct attempt in the early winter.
She emailed from a new address, subject line For Lily. The message was long, alternating between apology and justification. She wrote that she had been stressed, that she had not meant orphanage in a literal way, that family said hard things when they were afraid of being replaced. She asked me to explain to Lily that Aunt Madison still loved her.
I read it twice.
Then I forwarded it to the attorney and wrote a three-line reply:
The statements were heard by Lily in the moment they were made. We are not interpreting them into softer versions for your comfort. Do not contact her. Do not contact us except through counsel.
May you like
Daniel reviewed it before I sent it and added nothing. He had stopped searching for the version of Madison that might still be reachable underneath the one who had laughed on the phone. That search had cost Lily a night of bargaining for a garage floor. We were done paying.
Lily never saw the email. She asked about Madison only once that season, in the car, in a tone closer to curiosity than fear. I said Aunt Madison was not part of our regular life anymore because of what she had said. Lily said, “Okay,” and pointed at a truck with a Christmas tree in the bed. The conversation ended there, which was its own kind of progress.
