I expected anger.
Instead she said:
“That’s better.”
“Than what?”
“‘Of course I would've.’”
I understood.
Children know when adults rewrite themselves into heroes.
I had not been hero.
I came home.
Eventually.
I saw.
Then acted.
That mattered.
But it did not erase the months before.
Nia watched every clip.
At end she said:
“Delete them.”
I froze.
“All?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don't want them.”
“The attorney—”
“Case is done.”
She was right.
No active legal need.
I confirmed with attorney.
Then asked once more.
Nia nodded.
We deleted the copies from my personal devices.
The official records remained where required, outside our control.
But our house no longer stored them.
That night she slept better than she had in weeks.
At fifteen, she reconnected with Renee.
That decision terrified me.
Not because I controlled it.
Because I did not.
Renee had sent birthday cards through Terrence for years.
No direct pressure.
No requests.
At fifteen, Nia said:
“I want to talk to her.”
I asked:
“Why?”
“Because I have questions.”
“Okay.”
“You're not going to say no?”
“It’s your relationship.”
“She hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't make it your decision forever.”
I hated how mature that was.
We arranged meeting with therapist present.
I did not attend.
Afterward Nia came home quiet.
“How was it?”
“Hard.”
“Want to talk?”
“Not yet.”
Three days later she did.
“She apologized.”
I nodded.
“She didn't say ‘but.’”
That mattered.
“What did you ask?”