Chapter 7 - THE SECOND RABBIT
Holly began the clinical trial in Boston nine days later.
The first month was brutal. She developed an infection, lost more weight and spent her ninth birthday beneath a paper banner taped to the wall of a hospital apartment.
Calvin used the trust exactly as my mother intended. It paid for treatment-related travel, temporary housing, home nursing and the tutor who helped Holly keep up with her class when she had enough strength to read.
Every expense required independent approval.
I never complained about the safeguards again.
The investigation into North Lake lasted fourteen months. Derek eventually pleaded guilty to wire fraud and attempted theft from the trust. The court ordered restitution and imposed a prison sentence, though Calvin warned me that much of the missing money might never be recovered.
Our divorce became final before sentencing.
Derek received no portion of Holly’s trust. His limited future contact with her would depend on treatment, Holly’s wishes and family-court review after his release.
Vanessa sold her condo to repay the money North Lake had used for her mortgage and prenatal expenses. Prosecutors considered her cooperation and charged her with a lesser financial offense. She received probation, community service and an order to continue restitution payments.
She gave birth to a healthy boy named Owen.
I learned his name from Rachel, not from my sister.
Vanessa sent letters every few months. She apologized without asking me to excuse what she had done. She included no photographs of Owen and made no request to see Holly.
I stored the letters unopened in a drawer.
Eight months after treatment began, Holly’s scans showed no detectable cancer. Dr. Patel warned us that remission was not a promise, but it allowed us to return to Chicago.
We rented a two-bedroom apartment near the lake instead of moving back into the house Derek and I had shared. I resumed payroll work from home, completed caregiver training and kept a written medication log on the refrigerator.
Holly returned to school wearing a knit cap and carrying Captain Bun under one arm.
On her first Friday home, a package arrived without a return address.
Inside was a second stuffed rabbit, smaller than Captain Bun, with a blue ribbon around its neck. Beneath it was a note in Vanessa’s handwriting.
For Holly, only if you think it won’t hurt her.
Holly found me holding the box.
“Who sent that?”
I could have hidden the truth. Our family had already lost enough years to adults who believed silence was protection.
“Your aunt Vanessa.”
Holly touched the rabbit’s blue ribbon.
“Is she still your sister?”
The question had no answer simple enough for an eight-year-old or honest enough for me.
“She’s Owen’s mother,” I said. “She hurt us, and she’s trying to take responsibility.”
“Does that mean we have to love her again?”
“No.”
“Can we someday?”
“Maybe.”
Holly carried the smaller rabbit to her bedroom and placed it beside Captain Bun on the windowsill. She did not hug it or throw it away.
That evening, I opened Vanessa’s newest letter for the first time.
I read it once, folded it along its original crease and placed it beside my phone.
May you like
Holly called from her bedroom, asking me to help name the new rabbit.
I left the letter unanswered and went to sit beside my daughter.
