My parents possessed no legal visitation rights. Their access existed solely because I had once trusted them.
That trust no longer remained.
I explained the restrictions to Emma during breakfast.
She pushed one piece of cereal beneath her finger without eating.
“Are Grandma and Grandpa going to jail?”
“Probably not.”
“Are they angry with me?”
“They are angry because consequences have reached them.”
She stayed quiet.
Then she asked the question that hurt worse than every accusation my family had sent.
“Would Grandma have stayed if I had asked her not to take the first-class seat?”
I pulled my chair beside hers.
“You were never responsible for convincing adults to protect you. One adult should have stayed. The others should have refused to leave until you were safely included.”
“Even Uncle Scott?”
“Especially Uncle Scott, because he looked back and saw you.”
Emma nodded, but reassurance could not instantly repair what had been broken.
