Chapter 15
Two years after Ione gathered her school supplies from the driveway, she came home from school carrying the same backpack.
She was eight now.
The backpack was too small.
Theron had been trying to replace it for six months.
Ione refused.
“It still works.”
“The zipper requires prayer.”
“It works.”
“It has one strap.”
“It has one good strap.”
Theron surrendered.
Their new driveway was shorter.
No boxes.
No price tags.
No wheelbarrow full of expensive handbags.
Just Theron’s truck, Ione’s scooter, and chalk drawings covering half the concrete.
She dropped her backpack near the kitchen table.
A folded envelope slid out.
Theron recognized the return address.
Melisande.
He stopped.
Ione noticed.
“What?”
“That’s from Grandma.”
Her expression changed.
Melisande had been released from custody months earlier.
She remained under supervision.
No direct contact with Ione was permitted unless approved through Theron, Ione’s therapist, and the family court plan.
She had written four letters.
Theron kept them sealed.
Not hidden.
Ione knew they existed.
This was the first time one had been placed in the therapy file for Ione to consider taking home.
“Did you read it?” she asked.
“No.”
“You can.”
“It’s addressed to you.”
Ione sat at the table.
She touched the envelope.
Then pulled her hand away.
“Does Aunt Corinne write?”
“No.”
That issue was closed.
Corinne’s protective restrictions remained and she had made no contact request.
Ione looked at Melisande’s envelope again.
“What if she says she’s sorry?”
Theron sat across from her.
“Then she says she’s sorry.”
“Do I have to say okay?”
“No.”
“What if I miss her?”
“You can miss somebody and still not be ready to see them.”
Ione thought.
“What if I don’t miss her?”
“That’s allowed too.”
She turned the envelope over.
Everything practical had been resolved.
The forged guardianship had failed.
Northfield had never taken Ione.
Corinne and Miles no longer occupied her bedroom.
The old house had been sold through proper trust supervision.
Corinne and Melisande had repaid what they improperly took.
Both had faced legal consequences.
Theron had faced consequences for his own anger rather than using their scheme to excuse it.
His work schedule had changed.
Ione’s trust was independently managed.
Nobody could use old passwords, family status, or forged signatures to decide where she lived.
Only one emotional question remained.
Whether Ione would ever want Melisande back in her life after the grandmother she loved tried to make the law believe her father had abandoned her.
Theron could protect Ione while she decided.
He could not decide for her.
Ione slid the letter across the table.
“Can you keep it?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t throw it away.”
“I won’t.”
“Maybe when I’m nine.”
Theron smiled slightly.
“Maybe.”
She grabbed her backpack.
The broken zipper immediately opened and dumped three pencils onto the floor.
Theron looked at her.
Ione looked at him.
Neither said anything for two seconds.
Then Theron asked:
“New backpack?”
Ione sighed dramatically.
“Fine.”
She dropped to her knees to collect the pencils.
This time nobody laughed at her.
May you like
Nobody told her where she was going.
And when Theron knelt beside her to help, there was no forged paper waiting underneath.
