“Holly, I’m sorry.”
I didn’t answer.
Not because I wanted to punish him.
Because I couldn’t yet tell whether his apology was for what he’d done 61 years ago or what he’d done to me now.
I didn’t answer.
I placed the photograph on the desk.
Then I walked out with Helen.
***
Arthur’s letter arrived four days later.
He apologized for the salon, the photographs, and hiding our history.
I placed the photograph on the desk.
He didn’t ask for forgiveness.
Inside the envelope was the photograph I’d left on his desk, along with the consultation card bearing my mother’s name.
I stared at it for a long time.
He didn’t ask for forgiveness.
Then I noticed something I’d forgotten.
The girl beneath that lamp wasn’t ugly.
She was frightened.
And nobody had comforted her.
The girl beneath that lamp wasn’t ugly.
My granddaughter found me crying.
“Grandma?”
I handed her the photograph.
