Chapter 8 - The Things We Could Correct
The county records office did not erase the old pages.
Michelle explained that historical documents generally had to be preserved with their errors visible, while appropriate corrections or explanatory notes could be added through the available process.
That mattered to me.
The lie about our deaths had injured us, but it was also evidence of what had happened.
I didn't want it quietly removed as if nobody had ever made it.
I wanted an official record that showed the claim had been false.
Dominic submitted a sworn account of what Evelyn told him and copies of the letters she'd withheld.
I supplied my own statement, the returned envelopes, and proof I'd lived continuously in the city during the supposed fire.
The agency began reviewing the file under its procedures.
Whether anyone could still face legal consequences for particular acts depended on facts, laws, and time limits neither of us controlled.
We worked with counsel rather than demanding an instant criminal verdict from twenty-eight-year-old papers.
Meanwhile, the article about me remained online.
The publication corrected several factual errors, including its unsupported insinuation that I'd sought money by claiming to be Dominic's sister.
It did not delete every comment strangers had written.
I learned that some things could be challenged and others could only be outlived.
Vanessa eventually sent me an apology.
She admitted she'd discussed unverified family claims with a contact in the media and failed to consider that a person with a public profile could have real relatives who wanted privacy.
I accepted the apology as a beginning, not as an obligation to become her friend.
Dominic's company revised its procedures for responding to personal inquiries and restricted employee access to private family information.
He wanted to fix the damage without pretending his office had been blameless.
Our own relationship was improving in uneven increments.
Sometimes we laughed for an entire meal.
Sometimes I became furious because he used the phrase my mother when he meant Evelyn, and I felt as though our real mother had been replaced.
Then I remembered Evelyn had raised him, and that loving one woman did not erase the other.
He had room in his history for both.
I needed time to make room for that fact in mine.
At work, things became harder before they improved.
The rainy street had been difficult, but the publicity made customers cautious.
Some worried that buying from me meant getting involved in a family dispute.
Others asked intrusive questions instead of looking at the goods.
I considered accepting Dominic's offer of a storefront.
Then I sat down with my accounts and discovered I'd saved enough, with a modest microloan, to rent half a workshop with another craftsperson.
It would not be fancy.
I would still have to stand behind the counter and repair items until my fingers ached.
But the lease would be mine, and I could manage the expenses honestly.
I told Dominic about the plan.
"Can I help?" he asked.
"Yes. By reading the lease with me if you know someone experienced in small-business contracts. I can pay for advice."
He smiled.
"I know someone. I'll introduce you."
He did not insist on paying the rent.
He did not ask me to put his company's name above the door.
That restraint felt like a gift I could accept.
A few weeks later, we visited Aunt Ruth, who was older now and living with her daughter outside the city.
She cried when she saw Dominic.
Her records showed she'd been told by the agency that Daniel could no longer be contacted because his adoption was progressing and that my requests were being denied.
She admitted she had stopped helping me push for answers because she thought fighting the system would make my life harder.
"I should have pushed," she said.
I didn't argue.
She had been tired and afraid, but her withdrawal had left me alone with a question no child should have had to answer.
On the way home, Dominic asked if he could come by my new workshop once it opened.
"Of course," I said.
"As a customer?"
"Only if you pay the price on the tag."
May you like
He grinned.
"Deal."
