“Mrs. Dawso,” she said, her voice firm. “I am deeply sorry that it took your daughter bringing this into my chambers for the court to understand what you have been trying to say for months.”
Something inside me, a tightly wound spring of fear and pain that I’d been holding together for what felt like a lifetime, finally let go. I didn’t collapse. I didn’t weep. I just felt… still.
Then Harper took a hesitant step toward me, as if only now, with the battle won, was she allowing herself to be a child again. I met her halfway, sinking to my knees and pulling her into an embrace so fierce it was almost painful. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, the scent of my child, my hero.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she whispered against my neck, her small body finally starting to shake with relieved sobs.
I held her tighter, closing my eyes against the sting of my own tears. “No, my love. Don’t you ever be sorry. You forgive me. Forgive me for leaving you to face something so big all by yourself.”
She rested her head on my shoulder, her breathing slowly steadying.
“We’re not by ourselves anymore, Mommy,” she whispered.
And for the first time in that long, brutal war, I knew she was right. We weren’t. The truth was finally on our side.
