Chapter 7 - How Sofia knew the letters
I asked Sofia a question too soon.
“Why did you call those Mommy’s letters?”
She was sitting at breakfast the next morning.
Elena was not present yet.
Sofia stirred oatmeal.
“Vronca say.”
Veronica.
“What did she say?”
“Mommy letters stay box.”
“When?”
Sofia shrugged.
“Lots.”
I stopped.
A child interviewer would handle anything material.
Later, in a carefully conducted interview, Sofia explained enough.
She had seen Veronica open the brown shoe box several times.
Once Sofia asked:
“What letters?”
Veronica said:
“Your mother’s.”
Sofia asked:
“For me?”
Veronica answered:
“Not until you’re older.”
Another time Sofia reached for one.
Veronica slapped her hand away?
No.
Too much.
She simply shut the lid and moved it.
Sofia remembered the cream envelopes and Elena’s handwriting because one photograph beside Sofia’s bed contained an old birthday card from Elena.
“Mommy writing.”
Children build associations.
Veronica had also read one letter aloud.
Not the whole thing.
A line:
Tell Sofia I think about her every morning.
Why read that?
The child interviewer asked.
Sofia said:
“Vronca say Mommy think but not come.”
There.
Veronica used the letters selectively.
Proof of absence.
Your mother thinks of you but still does not come.
That allowed Veronica to position herself as the woman who stayed.
It was emotionally cruel.
It also explained why Sofia recognized them instantly.
No secret housekeeper conspiracy.
No magical literacy.
May you like
A three-year-old knew the box because the adult controlling it had taught her exactly what it meant.
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