Now I was asking Sophia to believe that everything would be different because I said so.
Trust didn't work that way.
Especially when it had been damaged repeatedly.
I needed to show her.
Not simply tell her.
Before leaving, I returned upstairs alone.
Patricia was sitting on the bed, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up.
"Are you finished overreacting?"
I took a breath.
"Sophia and I are going to her grandmother's house."
Patricia stared.
"You're taking her away from me?"
"I'm taking her somewhere she feels comfortable while we work out what happened."
She laughed sharply.
"You can't just walk out every time we disagree about parenting."
I looked toward the closet.
"This isn't an ordinary disagreement."
Patricia stood.
"You are letting a child control our marriage."
I shook my head.
"No."
She stepped closer.
"I've done everything for that girl."
I thought about the laundry room.
The missed lunch.
The box of letters.
And the way Sophia asked permission to eat a cookie.
I looked directly at Patricia.
"Then why is she afraid of you?"
For a moment, she couldn't answer.
Then she said, "Because she knows there are consequences when she misbehaves."
I felt a terrible clarity settle over me.
Patricia didn't see Sophia's fear as a problem.
She saw it as proof that her rules were working.
I took a slow breath.
"I'm going to preserve the letters and the records connected to them. I'm also going to get professional advice about what Sophia has told me."
Patricia's expression hardened.
"You'll regret humiliating me like this."
I didn't answer the threat.
Instead, I looked toward the closet.
I carefully collected the letters, placed them back in the box, and photographed the condition in which I'd found the remaining papers. I made sure not to alter or discard anything else.
Then I carried the box downstairs.
Patricia followed me to the landing.
"You're taking my property?"
I stopped.
"These letters are addressed to me and written by my daughter."
She crossed her arms.
"You don't know what you're doing."
I looked back.
For years, I'd believed that about myself.
Now I understood that not knowing everything was precisely why I needed help.
"Then I'll speak with people who do."
I walked out of the house with Sophia beside me.
Patricia didn't follow.
But as I placed the box in my car, I noticed her standing at the upstairs window.
She was holding her phone.
And she was watching us leave.
My mother-in-law opened her front door before I reached the porch.