Neither expected documentation.
Neither expected patience.
And neither expected that the woman they called “legally stupid” would simply keep records and let facts speak for themselves.
A month later I received a letter.
From Vanessa.
Not an apology.
At least not entirely.
But something close.
For the first time in years, she acknowledged what happened during our father’s illness.
The hospital visits.
The medications.
The sleepless nights.
The sacrifices.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t enough to repair everything.
But it was honest.
