Chapter 9 - The Invitation

A year to the day after the disaster at the Hudson Valley estate, a heavy, cream-colored envelope arrived at my office.
It was addressed in shaky, unfamiliar handwriting. I broke the wax seal—a pretentious monogram that once belonged to the Sterlings—and unfolded the thick card inside.
Clara, I know you have no reason to read this, let alone reply. But I am writing to you from a small apartment across the city. The trial is over. Ethan was sentenced yesterday to eight years. I have lost the house, the friends who once called themselves my allies, and my son. Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I went to the public library downtown to read the paper. A kind woman with silver hair helped me find the archives. She didn't know who I was. She just smiled, asked me how my day was, and handed me a cup of tea. It was the same kindness you and your parents always showed me—kindness I was too arrogant to recognize. I am sorry. Not just for the wedding, but for every moment I looked down on people who were twice the human being I will ever be. — Olivia Sterling
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I stared at the letter for a long time. There was no anger left in me, no bitter satisfaction, only a profound sense of closure. I folded the letter neatly, placed it back into the envelope, and slid it into the bottom drawer of my desk. Some people learn empathy only when every single thing they built on sand is washed away by the tide. I wished her well on her journey, but my life had moved far beyond her reach.
My phone chimed on the desk—a text from Dad. Bringing home pie tonight. Don't be late. On my way, Dad, I replied with a smile.