Chapter 15 - Dad’s Final Letter
James Holloway’s old law firm discovered a sealed archive box during the investigation.
It had been stored under Dad’s client number.
Inside was a letter addressed to Daniel.
Another addressed to me.
Daniel opened his first.
He read slowly.
Then handed it to his tablet camera so the device could enlarge the text.
Dad wrote.
Daniel,
People will sometimes confuse the help you need with the right to control you.
They are not the same thing.
You may need someone to explain a contract.
That does not mean they should choose your life.
You may need quiet after a difficult day.
That does not mean you are weak.
You may communicate differently.
That does not mean you have less to say.
Daniel stopped.
His eyes filled with tears.
He continued.
If I am not there when you become an adult, find people who ask before helping.
Stay away from people who decide first and explain later.
Money is useful only if it gives you choices.
Never let anyone turn it into a cage.
Daniel pressed his hand against the page.
My letter was shorter.
Take care of your brother.
But do not become his replacement parent.
He needs a sister.
Not another guardian.
Listen when he tells you what he wants.
And remember that protecting someone can become controlling them if you stop asking permission.
I read that paragraph twice.
It hurt because Dad was right.
Since the night I found Daniel beneath the table, I had made decisions quickly.
Hospital.
Police.
Apartment.
Attorney.
Protection.
Most were necessary.
But sometimes I had not asked him.
That evening, I sat beside him.
“I need to ask you something.”
He looked up.
“Do you want to keep living with me?”
Daniel thought.
Then typed.
“For now.”
I smiled.
“For now is good.”
He continued.
“I want apartment.”
“Your own?”
“Yes.”
“Near train.”
He loved trains.
“Okay.”
“Cat.”
I laughed.
“Now we’re negotiating.”
Daniel smiled.
Then typed.
“Not guardian.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Not guardian.”
“Sister.”
He nodded.
“Sister.”
It felt like Dad had entered the room for a moment.
Not as evidence.
May you like
Not as a victim.
As our father.
