Judith still mails letters. I never open them. Francine stores them in a folder in case we need to extend the protection order.

One envelope had Meadow’s name written across it.

Meadow saw the handwriting and turned pale.

“Do I have to read it?”

“No,” I said immediately. “You never have to accept words from someone who hurt you.”

She nodded quietly and returned to her homework.

Dr. Norton says Meadow is healing. Not forgetting. Healing. There is a difference.

At school, Meadow wrote an essay about heroes. Her teacher stopped me at pickup with tears in her eyes and handed me the paper.

My hero is my mom because she picked me instead of picking easy.

I sat in my car afterward and cried so hard I couldn’t drive for ten minutes.

That night, while I braided the smallest braid in human history, Meadow looked at herself in the mirror.

“Mommy?”