They Erased Me, So I Rewrote My Life Chapter 55

They Erased Me, So I Rewrote My Life Chapter 55

When I was twenty-two, I received an unexpected letter.

The sender was Savannah.

The letter came from a long-term treatment center on the East Coast.

In it, she said she had been there for nearly four years.

She had been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and histrionic personality disorder.

She wrote slowly and plainly.

She made no excuses for herself.

She admitted she had done terrible things.

Manipulating, lying, setting people up—nearly destroying my life and her own.

She said her therapist had told her that taking responsibility doesn’t mean demanding forgiveness.

So she wasn’t asking me to forgive her.

She only wanted me to know that I had been right all along.

Choosing to leave, choosing to live for myself—that wasn’t selfish.

It was what a survivor had to do.

At the end of the letter, she wrote:

“I hope you are happy. I also hope you have found someone who truly loves you.

You deserve a life better than anything I, or the Walton family, could ever have given you.”

After reading it, I was silent for a long time.

Outside the window, Portland’s usual fine rain was falling.

Leo hugged me from behind and rested his chin on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“I think so.” I folded the letter. “This might be the first time she’s ever told the truth.”

“Will you write back?”

I thought for a moment, then shook my head.

“No. But I’ll keep the letter.”

“Why?”

I turned and looked at him.

“To remind me that people can change. Not necessarily to repair the past, and not to erase the wounds. But they can still grow into something new.”

I placed the letter in my desk drawer, beside the printed copy of my university admission letter.

Then I closed the drawer.

“As for me,” I said, “I’ve already moved on.”