Dad turned toward her angrily, but Monica did not back down. She reminded him that her medical records proved the illness had never existed and told him she was finished allowing her name to be used against me.
I pushed Rebecca’s letter across the table.
“You have seventy-two hours to confirm that you’ll never contact me again. If you don’t, my attorney moves forward.”
Then Monica and I stood and walked away.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes as she drove through Lancaster. The streets looked almost exactly as they had when I was growing up, but I no longer felt like the girl who had once walked through them wondering what she needed to accomplish before her family would consider her enough.
Monica finally reached across the console and squeezed my hand.
“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Me too.”
For the first time in years, I did not feel alone.
The following afternoon, Rebecca forwarded an email from my parents’ attorney. They agreed to stop contacting me, withdrew their accusations, and promised not to pursue further action.
Rebecca added one short message beneath it.
“They caved. It’s over.”
