Chapter 9 - A VISIT TO THE PAST
When Leo turned two years old, I received an unexpected letter in the mail from the Federal Correctional Institution in Safford, Arizona.
It was a hand-written letter from Trevor.
I sat on my front porch in the cool evening breeze, watching Leo play in the grass with Ruth, and opened the envelope.
Maya,
I know I have no right to write to you. My lawyer told me I shouldn't, but I needed to say this before my parole hearing next year.
I spent the first year in here hating you. I thought you ruined my life. I thought you were evil for turning my family's financial documents over to the government.
But after eighteen months of therapy and sitting alone in a cell, I finally see the truth.
You didn't ruin my life, Maya. You saved Leo from becoming like me. I was a coward, an addict, and a thief. I treated you like dirt because I was terrified of how weak I was compared to you. When I smiled at you at 4:30 that morning, it wasn't because I thought I was strong—it was because I was relieved that I didn't have to pretend to be a husband anymore.
I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't expect to be a father to Leo until I've proven I can be a decent human being. But I want you to know that I am glad you left. You were always too good for my family.
Sincerely, Trevor.
I folded the letter slowly and placed it back in the envelope.
I didn't feel hatred toward Trevor anymore. The pain, the bitterness, and the anger that had defined my marriage had burned away, leaving behind a clean, solid foundation of absolute peace.
I looked across the lawn. Leo was running toward me, his face covered in sticky red watermelon juice, his bright brown eyes sparkling with joy.
"Mommy! Mommy, look!" he squealed, holding up a yellow butterfly he had found near the citrus tree.
May you like
I knelt down on the grass, catching him in my arms and spinning him around while he giggled uncontrollably under the golden Arizona sunset.
"I see it, my sweet boy," I laughed, kissing his warm cheek. "It's beautiful."
