“You were small. I was angry. You had something I needed, and you would not give it to me.”
“So you scared me.”
“Yes.”
“Did you think I would eat it?”
“No.”
“You told me to.”
“Yes.”
“Would you have stopped me?”
Lauren covered her mouth.
Dr. Shah waited.
Emma waited.
Lauren finally whispered, “I don’t know.”
The room became still.
That answer was worse than a comforting lie.
It was also honest.
Lauren cried.
“I want to say yes.”
Emma said nothing.
“I want to tell you I would have stopped you immediately.”
“But?”
“I had already become someone I did not recognize.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
“You always say that.”
Lauren looked confused.
“In your letters. You say you didn’t recognize yourself.”
Emma wiped one cheek.
“I recognized you.”
Lauren closed her eyes.
That sentence stayed in the room.
Adults often described their worst behavior as becoming someone else.
Children did not get that luxury.
To Emma, Lauren had still been Lauren.
The person she trusted to braid her hair.
The woman who attended school plays.
The woman who made pancakes.
The woman who told her to sit beside the dog bowl.
All one person.
Lauren nodded.
“You’re right.”
Emma asked another question.
“Did you love me?”
Lauren cried harder.
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
“I loved you selfishly.”
Emma frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“I loved the parts of being your stepmother that made me feel wanted.”
Lauren looked at her.
“When you hugged me. When you called me your other mom. When people saw us as a family.”
She swallowed.
“But when loving you required me to accept that Hannah would always matter, I became jealous.”
Emma stayed quiet.
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.”
“I know you know.”
Lauren’s voice shook.
“I needed to say it anyway.”
The meeting lasted forty minutes.
Emma left first.
Adrian stood in the hallway.
The moment he saw her face, he opened his arms.
She walked into them.
“How was it?”
“Bad.”
“Want to leave?”
“Yes.”
They walked toward the elevator.
Then Emma said, “Good too.”
Adrian looked at her.
“That sounds complicated.”
“It is.”
They drove home.
Halfway there, Emma said, “I don’t forgive her.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I might someday.”
“You still don’t have to.”
She smiled.
“You’re bad at forgiveness.”
“I’m excellent at grudges.”
“I know.”
They stopped for ice cream.