Dear Harry,

I'm angry Harry. Not with you but with myself. If it was just for the cancer, everything would be ok.

Your father is in jail. Your mother stopped by and told me. I'm so happy for this justice, a justice that you never got to share with me. How can I be happy on your behalf, Harry?

Sometimes I think about the night you were describing to me. I was trying to imagine you as a little boy, hiding under your bed while you were trying to save yourself from his hands. Your mother had it worse.

But you were carrying all of these from such a young age. I'm so sorry, Harry. I can still remember that scar on your back from when he burnt you with boiling water. I used to kiss that scar , hoping it wouldn't hurt you anymore. Hoping that I could make you feel like you were safe again.

Harry, I'm so sorry about that.

And I'm sorry that I didn't help you to get away from her. I wish I could. I wish I had told you from the start. I wish I could tell you since I first felt her presence.

" Seeing a therapist isn't a bad idea Harry."

I still love you.

Yours,
Taylor