“Well a little insight wouldn’t hurt. I wouldn’t mind.” She smiles again, but I’d much rather her talk to me like I’d talk to Cara. A normal conversation with give and take—not all take.

She sets down her pen and removes her glasses. “Off the record. I like you, Sophie. You’re going to do well in this program because even if you think you’re only doing it for Kipton, I know you’re not. You want to succeed. It’s how you operate. You’ve grown up in a sport that’s filled with the idea of perfection. But you can’t live your life the same way. You are bound to make mistakes—it’s part of living. So every time you veer from your path of perfection, we have to keep you moving forward while not getting hung up in what could have been. Throw that ideal out the window because reality doesn’t have a set plan. As daunting as it may sound, it’s a fact of life. But you don’t have to carry the entire burden anymore. I’ll be with you every step of the way to help you work through your fears. Sound good?”

“Sounds good to me. But I’ve never been perfect. I wish I was, so they would have loved me, but I’m not.”

“I’m not perfect either, Sophie, and this would be a boring world if we were.”

“You wouldn’t have a job.” I cover my mouth with my hand wishing I could take my comment back. But it’s too late.

“You have a great sense of humor,” she laughs. “You don’t have to bite your tongue around me either, okay? Give me the real Sophie. Not the girl you think I want to see.”

Her words remind me of the time Kipton told me not to be so shy around him. “Okay. And I’ll meet with Coach Evans. But if it’s too much, I’d like him to leave without having to beg.”

“You’ll never have to beg, Sophie. You’re here on your own free will. It doesn’t do any good for either of us if I push you too far. It may be hard to see right now, but you hold all the power. You can walk out of here anytime you want. That’s the scariest part of my job.”

“Me leaving?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not following.”

“It’s simple, Sophie. I want to help you and I can’t do that if you’re not here. Your success is my end goal.”

I roll my eyes, frustrated that even she wants something out of me. “That sounds like something Coach would say.”

“You’re success isn’t for me, Sophie. It’s for you. I want to put hope back into your life. A life that isn’t built around what you have to give. Instead, only what you offer. A lot of people have taken from you, but that’s not the way life has to continue for you.

Hope. One simple word with so many possibilities. I like the sound of it.

THE NEXT EIGHT DAYS ARE spent journaling, in group, and meeting privately with Maura. Not being able to speak to Kipton is killing me. I fall asleep each night thinking of him and wondering if he’s missing me as much as I’m missing him. Thankfully, I trust he will be waiting for me on the other side of the door once I’m discharged. A much healthier, safer Sophie will be leaving this place, but not before I’m ready. There’s several obstacles still standing in my way—two of which are still drowning me.

Today, I tackle the first one—meeting with Coach Evans. As my final step before I leave, it’s my greatest obstacle and the one I’d love to fix the most. I’ve never had a father figure in my life before, and I’m anxious to find out if I ever will. Although I’ve rehearsed what I want to say to him since I found out the truth, I’m still not sure it’s everything I have bottled up inside me. There’s only one shot for me to get it right.

Each step I take to the lounge is cautious. Part of me wants to rush to get it over with. The other part of me wants to savor each spoken word as it could be the last I ever hear from him. Unsure of how I’ll react when I see his face again, I slowly duck around the corner and slither into the room. I raise my eyes from the floor to meet his and although it’s old news, it hits me like a freight train. He’s my father.

“Hi,” I practically whisper.

“Sophie.” He stands up from his spot on the couch and waits for me to fully enter the room. I stand near him awkwardly, unsure of the proper greeting given the circumstances. He decides for me and reaches out a hand to shake. I accept. It feels formal and stuffy. Not at all how I want this meeting to go.

I sit down on the opposite end of the couch leaving distance between the two of us. Maura starts the meeting off with some general comments about my therapy. She talks with pride about my progress and I appreciate it. Coach Evans takes in every word, genuinely interested in what she has to say.

After that, Maura takes a moment to check in with each of us. Staying present is something I can struggle with. I tend to revert to the past while thinking of all that could go wrong instead of focusing on all that could go right.

When it’s my turn, I’m honest. I tell him about my hurt, my anger, and my frustration. He listens attentively, never once interrupting me. I get out everything I’ve rehearsed saying, yet I don’t gain anything. At least I don’t think so. Worried I was overly prepared, I blurt out the only thing left inside my jumbled brain. “I don’t hate you.”

His head jerks in my direction, a shocked expression covering his features. Maura even looks taken aback. I’ve expressed something similar to her several times, but as far as she knew, I was still debating one way or the other.

She speaks next. “Sophie, would you like to elaborate on that, or would you like him to respond?”

“Um. I’m not sure. I guess I needed him to know that I don’t hate him. I’m sure I did when my mom first told me the truth, but it wasn’t for the right reasons. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. Over and over it never changes. As much as I want to be mad, resent you even, I can’t.”

“Why do you think that is?” She questions.

“The letters.”

“What about the letters?”

“He wouldn’t have taken the time to write if he didn’t care. At least that’s the way I see it. I still wish he would have fought harder for me, but he didn’t. The letters don’t make up for all the wrongs, but they opened my eyes to a lot of truths. Each one is consistent. They’re all about me and how much he loves me.”

“I’ve always loved you, Sophie. Just because you didn’t see me, doesn’t mean I didn’t know what was going on in your life.”

“You didn’t know how sick I was.”

“No. I didn’t. But your Mom would send me your school picture every year. And I’ve seen almost every gymnastics meet. A few I snuck into without her seeing me, and the others, she sent pictures of you with your medal around your neck. The guilt I’ve lived with consumes me at times. There’s no excuse for the way your Mother and I handled things, but I’ve missed out on so much. It’s been a lifetime of punishments, but I do love you, beauty.”

Beauty. Dropping my head into my hands, I let him see me cry for the second time. Only this time, the tears aren’t angry. Instead, they’re forgiving. He has made an effort.

And I’m finally ready to forgive this man. Maybe it’s too soon or maybe it’s taken too long, but I can’t put a timeframe on what feels right inside of me.

“Sophie, stay with us. Tell me what you’re thinking,” Maura moves in front of me and places her hand on mine. It’s the reassurance I need to continue. This doesn’t have to take me to a dark place. It very well may, but I won’t know unless to try.

“I-I forgive him.”

She looks into my eyes and instructs me. “Look at him, Sophie. Tell him what you told me. Let him hear you.”

Turning my head slowly, the wall seems to rush by faster than my movement. My eyelids flutter open and closed in slow motion—the image of his face going in and out of focus. We sit staring eye to eye until I get the nerve to speak again. “I forgive you, Coach.”