Chapter 14 - The Letter From MaraOn the second anniversary of the incident, Naomi gave me another letter.
“Mara left instructions for this one to be delivered when Juniper turned six.”
Juniper’s birthday was next week.
I stared.
“What does it say?”
“Not mine to read.”
The envelope:
For Juniper, age six.
I waited.
On her birthday, after cake, I sat beside her.
“Mommy wrote you something.”
Juniper knew Mara through pictures.
Stories.
Videos.
She called her Mommy Mara sometimes.
“Before she died?”
“Yes.”
I read aloud.
Mara wrote about loving Juniper.
About how brave she was.
About her laugh.
Then:
If Daddy looks tired, that does not mean you are heavy. It means grown-ups sometimes carry many things at once. You are never a burden.
I cried.
Juniper touched my cheek.
“Daddy.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re leaking.”
I laughed.
Mara continued:
There may be people who tell you what being a Mercer or a Bellamy should mean. You get to decide. Names are history, not instructions.
Exactly.
Juniper listened.
Then asked:
“Did Mommy know Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“Did she like him?”
“Sometimes.”
Child satisfied.
At the end:
Always tell Daddy when something scares you, even if a grown-up says it is secret. Safe adults do not ask children to hide things that affect their body or safety.
My throat closed.
Mara wrote this before Tabitha’s scheme.
General wisdom.
Yet it landed like prophecy.
Juniper looked at me.
“I told.”
“Yes.”
“You were mad.”
“At them.”
“Not me?”
“Never you.”
She smiled.
Then put Mara’s letter in her treasure box beside Tabitha’s apology.
Two women.
One protected through words.
One failed then apologized.
May you like
Juniper would decide what those letters meant later.
I would not choose for her.
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