Chapter 22 - Sarah and Michael Meet Once More
Sarah was sixty-two when she chose to see Michael again.
Not reconciliation.
Closure? Maybe not even.
Peter knew.
Noah knew.
I knew.
Public mediation room.
Michael was sixty-four.
Gray.
They had not spoken directly in nearly twenty years.
He stood.
“Sarah.”
“Michael.”
No hug.
They sat.
Sarah asked:
“Why did you keep David’s things?”
Michael:
“I thought if house had less of him, there would be more room for me.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
“Why hide letters?”
“Because his parents kept reminding children I wasn't their father.”
“They were their grandparents.”
“I know.”
Then:
“Why Noah?”
“Because he was young enough I thought I could change what father meant.”
Sarah looked away.
“Why Emily’s college letter?”
“I was afraid she'd leave and you’d have to work less.”
There.
Then:
“You wanted me exhausted?”
Michael shook.
“I wanted you dependent on my organization. If you were home more, you'd see.”
That was chilling honesty.
Then financial.
“Did you marry me for money?”
“No.”
Evidence supported.
“Did you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you think love gave you right to choose for me?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Do you still?”
“No.”
Sarah nodded.
Then:
“I’m not forgiving you today.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t want friendship.”
“I understand.”
“I wanted to hear you say no one else caused what you did.”
Michael swallowed.
“Emily didn't. Noah didn't. You didn't. David's parents didn't. My business didn't.”
Then:
“I did.”
That was what she came for.
Session ended.
Peter picked her up.
He did not ask details until she volunteered.
Then Sarah cried.
Not because wants Michael.
Because someone she loved once finally named truth.
Then she told Noah.
Only if he wanted.
He did.
“Did it help?”
“A little.”
Then:
“Would you see him?”
“No.”
Fine.
Then Michael died? We can perhaps later chapter 24.
Before that, his life continued without us.
He volunteered? No need redemption.
He worked maintenance at apartment complex.
Neighbors knew polite older man.
Past public record existed.
People are many things.
Then Sarah’s marriage to Peter healthy.
They argued.
Once Peter said:
“You’re overreacting.”
Sarah froze.
He stopped.
“Bad phrase?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let me try again.”
Simple.
No one perfect.
Then Emily me.
My marriage Jordan and I had first child? Not necessary. Maybe two kids. We live Cleveland. I visit.
I still have protective impulse with Noah though he's grown.
He jokes:
“You know I'm six-foot-one.”
“I can still yell.”
Then at Sarah’s 65th birthday, family photo.
Sarah.
Peter.
Emily/Jordan.
Noah/Maya/Grace.
Grandpa Alan maybe deceased by then.
No Michael.
No empty chair symbolism.
Dad David photo at home.
Family not one fixed roster.
Then Noah raised glass:
“To Mom.”
Sarah:
“What did I do?”
“Everything and some things late.”
Everyone laughed.
She did too.
That was forgiveness perhaps.
Not perfect.
Then I asked Noah later:
“Do you forgive Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Michael?”
“Different.”
No need define.
Then one legal notice.
Michael’s record eligible for no sealing due offense? He applied to seal some financial minor count but violent convictions ineligible maybe. Court denied part. Not relevant.
No ongoing.
Then he designated no family as emergency contacts.
Fine.
No surprise will.
Then at age sixty-eight, Michael was diagnosed with aggressive cancer.
He sent no requests.
His attorney contacted Sarah only because he had documents? No. He had one box of family photos and wanted return.
Sarah said send.
Inside were duplicates.
No secret.
He had kept one photo of us at zoo.
I looked.
I remembered day.
He bought cotton candy.
Noah called him Michael.
He laughed then.
Before obsession hardened.
May you like
People change both directions.
That was painful.
