Ugly(133)

“I know,” I cry into his chest. “But how do I handle this now that I remember what happened?” I look up at Max and his sympathetic brown eyes look deep into my soul.

“We handle it, together. Call Katherine and make an appointment with her, and I’ll come with you.”

I lay my head on his chest again, and tighten my arms around his body. “Thank you, Max. For everything.”

He kisses the top of my head, and tightens his arms around me.

With dinner long forgotten, we stay knitted together. “Can I sleep here tonight?” I ask.

“Of course, I have a guest room set up. You can take my bed, and I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

“No, not tonight, I need you close to me. Can we sleep in the same bed, please?”

He leans down and chastely kisses me on the lips. “Anything my snowflake needs.”

“Can we go to bed now? I’m not sure I can be an adult for the rest of the night. I just need to let everything sink in.”

Max quietly leads me to his room, gets a t-shirt and some boxer shorts for me, and points me in the direction of his bathroom. I strip and just stand under the shower’s stream of hot water. Still in a haze, I get out, dry myself off, and change into the clothes he’s given me.

Max is in bed with his shirt off, wearing only boxers. His chest has intricate tattoos, but I’m still in a daze. I don’t even bother trying to decipher what they say or mean. I just crawl into bed, into Max’s arms, and simply close my eyes.

My dreams tonight aren’t happy. They aren’t of a blond-haired little boy. There’s nothing to rejoice about. My nightmare tonight is of me, alive in a see-through casket, trying to scratch my way out. But my mother is throwing spades full of dirt over me while saying, “I’m glad it was you.”



I haven’t really slept. I’ve dozed, and I’ve tossed and turned, but I haven’t actually slept.

Finally, after two in the morning, I drag myself out of bed. Max is snoring, quite loudly at that. I go out into the family room and look through the papers that have essentially changed my life. Or maybe they haven’t.

I pick up the only bundle of papers I know won’t affect me. Mine.

I take the paper clip off, and go through everything in the papers. My marriage to Trent is there, as is everything from my work history right back to school. At the back of the stack is a sealed white envelope with my name messily scrolled in black ink.

I take the envelope and place everything else on the sofa next to me. I rip the side and slide out the letter.

Dear Lily,

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. And I hope you find it in your heart to one day forgive me and your mother for the way we treated you.

Wade’s death was the second worst thing to ever happen to our family. The worst thing, was the way we treated you, our daughter. We held onto our hate toward you, because we were too gutless to lay the fault on who actually deserved it, your mom and me. I should’ve fixed the gate; I knew it would open easily. But I never did.

Your mom saw you at fault because you called her in, but she knew she shouldn’t have left Wade in the backyard on his own. She started drinking, and popping pills, then started doing harder drugs in order to cope. My choice of addiction was alcohol. You know that because you often were the recipient of the anger unleashed when I’d drink.

I couldn’t cope with what I did to Wade. I didn’t see him run out, and I hit him. When I got out of the car, he was crying and calling for you. The last words on his lips were “Lily”, and I held him in my arms as he died. I couldn’t cope and I wanted to forget, but every time I’d drink, the only thing I did was remember the way he took his last breath in my arms.

I’m afraid “sorry” won’t ever be enough for everything I did to you. It’ll never be enough. Because no father should ever treat his daughter the way I treated you. I’m not a man, Lily, I’m not even a monster. I’m lower than that.

By the time you’ll read this, I’ll be dead. And so I should be.

I wanted you to know that although I blamed you, it was never your fault. You should never have been subjected to the horrible things I put you through.

I’ve heard through the grapevine you’re married now and living in a different state. I’m not sure how much of that is true, but I hope it all is, and I hope you are happy. I haven’t tried to find you to beg for your forgiveness, because I’m not worthy of your clemency.

But I want to tell you this. I am sorry and I love you. You were never stupid and you certainly aren’t ugly. But most importantly, you’re worthy. You’re worthy of love, you’re worthy of respect and you are worthy of happiness.