Page 26 of Broken

I’m starting this letter the same way I start all of them, I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever say it enough. I owe you a lifetime of sorry. I owe you a lifetime of so much more.

I’ve been clean and sober for ten years now. It’s been the hardest nine years of my life, but if it means there’s even the possibility of you talking to me. Even if it’s just to hear you say you hate me, it’s worth it all.

I’ve been helping Kai at the rehab program he started a couple of years ago. You would be so proud of him. He has grown into a fine young man. I think he is still in love with you, after all these years. You know, he fought to have the children’s center named after you. It’s called Sinclair House. I asked him why and he said because he did it for you.

I just want you to know, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing right now, I’m proud of you. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, in spite of all you had to overcome to get there. I wish I could have protected you better, protected you from your father, from me.

I failed you, and that is not your burden to bear, it's mine. I hope you realize how incredible you are, and how much you deserve all the things in life that you want.

I love you my daughter, and again, I am sorry I wasn’t the mother you deserved, you needed.

~Layla

The date on the letter was from a few months back. It must have been the last one she wrote. The tears I didn't know I cried smeared the blue ink on the paper. I wiped my face and put the letter back in the envelope. Taking a deep breath, I picked up one of the journals and began to read.

The only one that looked like it came from this century, started The January after I gave birth to Aine. Layla checked herself into rehab after a drunken fit in public, when she went out without pants on, looking for me. She wrote that she woke up, realized I wasn't there, and thought that my father took me from her.

I didn't read every entry, most of them talked about the struggles she faced with staying sober in that first year. A few of them have angry rants over how most of the town treated her like poison. One awfully long entry about a time she went to see if Mia's mom had a way to contact me.

Needless to say, that confrontation did not go the way Layla thought it would. I looked up and silently thanked Daisy for always having my back. I needed to remember to get a mailing address or number to reach out to Mia's parents and send my love and apologize for leaving the way I did.

I looked at a few of the news clippings. She wrote a lot about Kai in the past two years, the work he did with the hospital; the food bank, the children's rescue, Sinclair House, and the rehab facility.

In the article about the rehab, my mother can be seen in the background. She gained weight, and her skin color looked healthy, not washed out like it did when I left her here. She looked good, I was happy for her.

The older journals were all from before she had me and a few entries from when I was really young.

I flipped through the oldest one, it talked about high school and how she wanted to be a bakery chef one day. I read about the first time she met my dad, and how she thought he was an arrogant jerk who thought too much of himself. I laughed at that. I could see that in him,

I could see that in them both.

Another talked about when she fell in love with my father. How he did a handstand and walked up a flight of stairs on just his hands. I was so shocked by this passage; I read it three times. That was not the Howard Grant I knew growing up. I realized; I didn't really know my father at all. I knew one side of him, but I didn't know him.

The rest of that journal talked about how much they were in love, their engagement, and their wedding.

The next one talked about my mother's first and second miscarriages, I never knew she had been pregnant before me.

A few entries were about my parents drinking and drug use. My mother said it was the only way to cope with the loss of both babies. A small part of my heart broke for them. I couldn't imagine the pain if I lost Aine.

The entries that talked about my mom's pregnancy with me sounded a lot like the ones from before my dad, laced with fear and uncertainty over the risk of losing me.

The entries got darker and darker as they went on. The more I read, the more painful it got to keep going. Her labor with me almost killed her. She hemorrhaged and needed an emergency hysterectomy, leaving her unable to even try for more children. She never blamed me though. Not yet at least. In the following entries, she talked about how I was a blessing, and she was thankful to be given a daughter to love and protect.

Way to drop the ball on that one mom. I kept reading, the entries got darker and sloppier as they went on. It was like I watched my mother's descent into drug and alcohol abuse unfold on paper.

I couldn't finish reading the journals, they hurt too much. I didn't know when her hatred went from being self-inflicted to inflicting it on her innocent child, but I didn't need to know. It didn't change a thing.

I went through the other letters. I didn't read them in any order. Just whichever one I picked up first. The last letter, her first sober letter, the one that shattered my heart, tore down all the walls that I built to protect myself all these years.

Sinclair,

My sweet Sinclair. I’m so sorry for all the pain and hurt I caused you. I can’t take any of it back, and I hate myself for all of it. At first, I thought if I did it, if I beat you, he wouldn’t touch you. I’m so sorry, I was so wrong. I should have left him after the first time he hit me. I should have left after the first ‘one too many’ drinks. But I was weak, I thought he loved me, loved us.

I’d like to think, that in his own way, your father did love us. But he hated himself so much more. He needed the drugs, the alcohol to live with himself, and they made him a monster. I know that doesn’t excuse what he did to you, but I hope it helps you understand him a little more.

I tried to protect you from him, but ended up hurting you more in the process, and if I could switch places with you, or give my own life to give you a better chance I would.

I’m sober now. I’ve been clean for six months. I go to meetings every night. I hope you’re enjoying college, wherever you went.

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