Thanksgiving. My name is Claire and I am 32 years old. I grew up in Michigan in one of those families where everyone lives within 20 mi of each other and you are basically required to show up to every holiday gathering or face the wrath of Grandma Helen. Vanessa is my cousin on my mom’s side.

 She is 2 years younger than me and she has been the golden child of the family since we were kids. Here’s the thing about Vanessa. She is beautiful. Like genuinely annoyingly beautiful. Long blonde hair, green eyes, perfect body. The kind of woman who could wear a trash bag and still have men tripping over themselves. And she knows it.

 She has known it since we were teenagers. The first time it happened, I was 23. I had just started dating this guy named Marcus. He was a graphic designer, really sweet, kind of shy. We had been together for about four months, and I was nervous about bringing him to Thanksgiving because my family can be a lot.

 But Marcus insisted he wanted to meet everyone. Said he was serious about me. The dinner was at my aunt Diane’s house. Vanessa showed up wearing this tiny red dress that was completely inappropriate for a family Thanksgiving. But nobody said anything because nobody ever says anything to Vanessa. My mom just gave me this look like, “Here we go.

” and went back to mashing potatoes. Marcus and I were sitting on the couch after dinner just talking with my uncle about football or whatever. Vanessa came over and squeezed herself between us. literally just sat down on the couch and pushed herself into the middle, pressing her leg against Marcus’ leg. She started asking him all these questions about his work, touching his arm when she laughed, leaning forward so he could see down her dress.

 I am sitting right there, right there, and she is just acting like I do not exist. Marcus looked uncomfortable, but also, you know, he is a guy and Vanessa is Vanessa. By the end of the night, I caught them talking alone in the kitchen. She had her hand on his chest, laughing at something he said. When they saw me, Vanessa just smiled this innocent smile and said, “I was just telling Marcus how lucky he is to have you.

” Marcus and I broke out 3 weeks later. He said he needed space, that he was not ready for something serious. I saw him tagged in one of Vanessa’s Instagram photos two months after that. They were at some bar downtown. He had his arm around her waist. That was the pattern. Every single relationship I had, every single guy I brought home, Vanessa would sink her claws in.

 It did not matter if it was Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July. If I showed up with a date, she showed up looking like she was going to a nightclub, and by the end of the night, she would have his attention. There was Ryan, the teacher I dated when I was 25. Vanessa cornered him by the dessert table and spent 30 minutes telling him about her charity work with underprivileged kids.

 They exchanged numbers to coordinate a volunteer opportunity. I found out later they had been texting for weeks. There was David, the accountant. Vanessa asked him to help her move some furniture at her apartment. I was not invited. When I asked David about it, he got defensive and said I was being jealous and controlling. There was James.

 There was Tyler. There was Christopher. Every single one. The worst part was that my family just let it happen. My mom would pull me aside and tell me that Vanessa was young and did not mean anything by it. My aunt would say that I should not bring men around if I could not handle a little competition.

 My grandma told me I should work on being more feminine and maybe then I could keep a man interested. I stopped bringing dates to family events for years. I just showed up alone. I told my family I was focusing on my career, that I was happy being single. The truth was I was dating. I just refused to give Vanessa any more ammunition.

 But then I turned 31 and I met someone. His name was Trevor and he was perfect. A doctor, funny, kind, good-looking. We had been together for 8 months, and it was the most stable, healthy relationship I had ever had. He kept asking to meet my family, and I kept making excuses. But eventually, Christmas was coming up, and I could not avoid it anymore.

 I told Trevor about Vanessa. I sat him down and explained the whole history, every detail. I told him she would probably try something and I needed him to just ignore her, stay close to me, not fall for her games. Trevor laughed. He actually laughed. He said, “Claire, I am a grown man. I am not going to let your cousin seduce me at a Christmas party.

 I love you. Stop worrying. I wanted to believe him. I really did.” Christmas Eve arrived and we drove to my parents house. I was so anxious I felt sick. Trevor kept holding my hand, telling me everything would be fine. Vanessa was already there when we arrived. She was wearing this white sweater dress that looked like it was painted on with these high heels that made her legs look like they went on forever.

 Her hair was in perfect waves. She looked like a Victoria’s Secret model who got lost on the way to a photo shoot. She saw Trevor and her eyes lit up like she had just won the lottery. “You must be Trevor,” she said, walking over with this big smile. “I have heard so much about you. Clare is so lucky.” She hugged him. It lasted too long.

 Trevor was polite but distant. He kept his arm around my waist, made a point of kissing my forehead, stayed by my side. I started to relax. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe Trevor really was different. But Vanessa was patient. She always was. She spent the whole evening circling us like a shark. She would join whatever conversation we were in, laugh at Trevor’s jokes, ask him questions about his work.

 She spilled wine on her dress and asked Trevor to help her clean it up because he is a doctor. He must know how to get stains out. I watched him hesitate. I watched him look at me and then I watched him follow her to the kitchen. They were gone for 15 minutes. When they came back, Vanessa’s dress was fine and Trevor looked flushed.

 He said they were just talking, that she was asking him medical questions about her mom’s knee surgery. I wanted to scream. We left early. I told my family I had a headache. Trevor drove home in silence while I cried in the passenger seat. He swore nothing happened. He swore he loved me, that Vanessa was just friendly, that I was overreacting.

 But I could see it in his eyes. That same look all the others had, that curiosity, that interest. We broke up in February. He said he needed to focus on his residency. I saw him at a restaurant in March with a blonde woman. It was not Vanessa, but it might as well have been. I was done. I stopped dating.

 I stopped going to family events. I told my mom I was busy with work, that I would visit when I could. She was disappointed, but I did not care anymore. I was tired of being humiliated. I was tired of Vanessa winning. Then something weird happened. I started volunteering at this literacy program at the local library.

 One of the programs they had was corresponding with inmates who were trying to improve their reading and writing skills. I signed up because I needed something to do with my time, and I figured helping people learn to read was a good cause. They matched me with an inmate named Michael. He was 34, serving the last 2 years of a 7-year sentence for armed robbery.

 His first letter was short, just a few sentences thanking me for volunteering and saying he hoped to improve his writing before he got out. I wrote back. I told him about my work as a project manager at a tech company, about my love for hiking, about the weather in Michigan, basic stuff. He wrote back with more details.

He told me about growing up in Detroit, about making bad choices when he was young, about how prison had given him time to think about the man he wanted to be. His writing was rough but honest. There was something raw about it that I found refreshing. We kept writing once a week at first, then twice a week, then almost every day.

 Michael told me about the books he was reading, about the anger management classes he was taking, about his plans for when he got out. He wanted to get a job in construction, maybe go to community college eventually. He had an aunt in Grand Rapids who said he could stay with her until he got on his feet. I told him about my family, about Vanessa, about feeling invisible and inadequate and angry. Michael did not judge me.

 He did not tell me to be more confident or to just ignore her. He said, “Your cousin sounds like a miserable person who only feels good when she is making other people feel bad. That is not about you. That is about her.” Something about the way he said it, the simplicity of it made sense to me.

 We wrote to each other for 8 months. I started looking forward to his letters more than anything else in my week. He was funny and thoughtful and vulnerable in ways that the men I had dated never were. Maybe it was because he was in prison and had nothing to lose. Or maybe it was just who he was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Then one day, he wrote and told me he was getting out in 2 months. He asked if I would be willing to meet him in person. Maybe grab coffee. No pressure. He said he understood if I said no, that he knew the situation was complicated. I said yes. I do not know why I said yes. Maybe I was lonely. Maybe I was curious. Maybe I just wanted something in my life that was different, that was mine, that Vanessa could not touch.

 Michael got out in October. We met at a coffee shop in Grand Rapids. I was nervous, obviously. This was a man I had been writing to for months, but had never seen except in the small blurry photo that came with his first letter. He walked in and I recognized him immediately. Tall, broad shoulders, dark haircut short, a nervous smile.

 He was handsome in this unexpected way, not polished like the guys I usually dated, but real. We talked for 3 hours. It was easy and comfortable and nothing like I expected. He told me about adjusting to being out, about his job doing drywall work, about staying with his aunt. I told him about my job, my apartment, my terrible family.

 He asked if he could see me again. I said yes, we started dating officially, I guess, though it felt strange to call it that at first. We went to movies, we got dinner, we went for walks along the river. He was different from anyone I had ever been with. He listened when I talked. He did not play games. He said what he meant, and he understood me in this way that felt almost scary.

 He could tell when I was anxious or upset before I said anything. He knew when I needed space and when I needed to be held. It was like having someone actually see me for the first time in my life. My mom called in November and asked if I was coming to Thanksgiving. I had been avoiding her calls, but I finally picked up.

 She said the whole family missed me, that Grandma Helen was asking about me, that it had been almost a year since I had come to a holiday. I told her I would think about it. Michael and I were lying in bed that night when I mentioned it. He asked why I was hesitant. And I told him about Vanessa again, about the pattern, about how I could not handle watching it happen one more time.

 Michael was quiet for a minute, then he said, “Take me.” I laughed. I said, “You do not want to meet my family. Trust me.” He said, “I am serious. Take me to Thanksgiving. Let me meet this cousin of yours.” I told him it was a bad idea. I told him Vanessa would eat him alive. that she had destroyed every relationship I had ever brought around her.

 I told him she was beautiful and manipulative and ruthless. Michael just shrugged. He said, “I have been in prison for seven years. I think I can handle your cousin.” I thought about it and then I thought, “Screw it. Why not? What was the worst that could happen? Vanessa would seduce Michael. I would lose another relationship.

 I would never speak to my family again. I was already halfway there, so I said yes. Thanksgiving morning, I woke up with this knot in my stomach.” Michael seemed calm. He wore a simple button-down shirt and jeans, nothing fancy. His hair was neat and he had shaved. He looked good, normal, like a regular guy you would bring home to meet your family.

 We drove to my parents house. I gave him one more warning. I said, “Vanessa is going to come after you hard. She’s going to flirt. She’s going to touch you. She’s going to try to get you alone. Please just stay with me. Do not fall for it.” Michael took my hand. He said, “Claire, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.

” We walked in and the whole family was there. My mom hugged me like I had been gone for years. My dad shook Michael’s hand and asked him what he did for work. Michael said, “Construction.” And my dad launched into a story about building his deck last summer. Then Vanessa walked in from the kitchen.

 She was wearing a tight black dress with a plunging neckline and these ridiculous heels. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was flawless. She looked like she was going to a cocktail party, not a family Thanksgiving. She saw Michael and I swear I could see the wheels turning in her head. She walked over with this predatory smile.

 You must be Michael, she said extending her hand. I am Vanessa, Clare’s cousin. Michael shook her hand briefly. Nice to meet you. Vanessa kept holding his hand just a second too long. I have heard absolutely nothing about you. Clare keeps her life so private. She looked at me with this fake innocent expression. How long have you two been together? A couple months, I said. That is so sweet. Vanessa said.

How did you meet? I opened my mouth. Not sure what to say, but Michael answered first through a pen pal program. Vanessa’s eyes lit up. Oh, like one of those online things. That is adorable. Something like that, Michael said. His voice was even unbothered. Vanessa launched into her usual routine. She asked Michael about his job, about where he grew up, about his hobbies.

 She touched his arm when she laughed. She leaned in when he talked. She did everything she always did. Michael was polite but distant. He answered her questions briefly, then turned back to me or someone else. He kept his hand on my lower back. When Vanessa suggested he help her bring in extra chairs from the garage, he said, “I think your dad can handle it.” And stayed by my side.

 I could see Vanessa getting frustrated. This was not how it usually went. Usually by this point, the guy would be fawning over her, finding excuses to talk to her alone, getting flustered by her attention. Michael was not flustered. He was barely interested. Dinner was the same. Vanessa sat across from us and spent the whole meal trying to engage Michael in conversation.

 She asked him about sports, about movies, about music. She told stories designed to make her sound interesting and adventurous. She laughed loudly at jokes that were not funny. Michael was polite. He nodded. He smiled occasionally, but mostly he talked to my uncle about fishing and asked my grandma about her recipe for stuffing.

 He held my hand under the table. After dinner, everyone moved to the living room. Vanessa cornered Michael by the drink table. I watched from across the room, my heart pounding. This was usually when it happened. The private conversation, the exchanged phone numbers, the beginning of the end. I saw Vanessa lean in close to Michael. I saw her touch his chest.

 I saw her whisper something in his ear. Michael stepped back. He said something I could not hear, then walked away and came back to sit next to me on the couch. Vanessa stood by the drink table looking stunned. My mom leaned over and whispered, “I like this one.” He seemed steady. I almost cried.

 We stayed for another hour. Vanessa kept trying, kept circling, but Michael did not budge. He stayed with me, talked to my family, acted like Vanessa was just another person in the room and not the center of the universe. When we finally left, I felt like I could breathe for the first time in years. In the car, I asked Michael what Vanessa had said to him by the drink table. He hesitated.

 Then he said, “She told me you were damaged and insecure and that I could do better.” She gave me her number. My stomach dropped. And what did you say? I told her I was not interested and that she should probably work on being a better person before she tried to ruin anyone else’s life. I started crying. Not sad crying, but relieved crying.

 Like something inside me that had been wound tight for years suddenly released. Michael pulled over. He held me while I sobbed in the passenger seat of his car. He did not tell me to stop or ask what was wrong. He just held me. When I finally calmed down, I looked at him and said, “Why? Why did you not fall for it?” Every other guy has.

 She is beautiful and charming, and she knows exactly what to say. Michael looked at me like I had asked the dumbest question in the world. Clare, I spent seven years in prison. I learned pretty quick how to spot people who are full of garbage. Your cousin is miserable. You can see it in her eyes. She is not happy.

 She is not confident. She is desperate and desperate people are boring. He paused. Plus, I am in love with you. Why would I want someone like her when I have you? I kissed him right there in the car on the side of the road. I kissed him like my life depended on it. That should have been the end of the story.

 Michael proved he was different. Vanessa failed. I won for once. We should have just ridden off into the sunset, but life is never that simple. A week later, my mom called me. She sounded upset. She said Vanessa had come over crying, saying I had brought an ex-convict to Thanksgiving without warning anyone, that she had looked Michael up online and found out about his record, that she felt unsafe and disrespected.

 I was furious. I said, “Mom, Michael served his time. He is a good person.” And Vanessa is only upset because she could not manipulate him. My mom sighed. She said, “Cla, honey, I know Vanessa can be difficult, but bringing a felon to a family event without telling anyone is not okay. Your father is very upset.” Grandma Helen is worried.

 I hung up on her. I did not talk to my family for 3 weeks. My phone was full of texts from various relatives. My aunt said I was being selfish. My uncle said I should have told them about Michael’s past. My cousin Jessica, who I had always liked, sent me a long message about how I needed to think about other people’s feelings and safety.

 Only my younger brother texted to say, “Vanessa is such a drama queen. Michael seems cool. Michael felt terrible.” He said he should have told me to warn my family, that he should have known his record would become an issue. I told him it was not his fault, that my family was just looking for an excuse to make Vanessa the victim like they always did.

 But it ate at me. The idea that I had finally found someone good, someone real, and my family could not even be happy for me. The idea that Vanessa could lose for once and still somehow make herself the center of attention. Christmas came. I did not go. I spent it with Michael at his aunt’s house.

 She made ham and mashed potatoes and did not ask me invasive questions or make passive aggressive comments. It was the best Christmas I had ever had. Then in January, I got a call from my cousin Jessica. She said she needed to talk to me in person, that it was important. I almost said no, but something in her voice made me agree.

 We met at a coffee shop. Jessica looked nervous. She ordered a latte and did not drink it. Just held the cup in her hands. I need to tell you something about Vanessa, she said. And you are not going to like it. I waited. Jessica took a breath. Last year, Vanessa started seeing a therapist. Aunt Diane made her go because she was having panic attacks.

The therapist diagnosed her with something. I do not remember exactly what, but basically she is really insecure and she needs constant validation from men to feel good about herself. That is not an excuse, I said. I know, Jessica said quickly. I am not saying it is, but here’s the thing. The therapist told her to apologize to you to actually confront what she has been doing all these years.

 And Vanessa refused. She said you were the problem, that you were jealous and bitter and that she did not owe you anything. I felt sick, Jessica continued. But then you showed up with Michael at Thanksgiving and something changed. Vanessa came to my apartment that night and completely broke down. She was crying, saying she did not understand why Michael was not interested in her, why her usual tricks did not work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 She said she felt invisible for the first time in her life. Good, I said. I meant it. That is not all, Jessica said. She looked down at her coffee. Vanessa has been stalking Michael online. Like really stalking him. She found his old Facebook from before he went to prison. She found articles about his arrest.

 She found his ex-girlfriend and sent her messages asking about him. My blood went cold. What? She is obsessed. Jessica said she cannot handle the fact that she lost. So, she is trying to find dirt on him, trying to prove to the family that he is dangerous or whatever. She is the one who told your mom about his record.

She printed out articles about his case and showed them to Grandma Helen. I could not breathe. Why are you telling me this? Jessica looked at me with tears in her eyes. Because Vanessa is planning something. She’s been talking about going to the police, making a complaint that Michael made her feel threatened at Thanksgiving.

 She is trying to get him in trouble, maybe even sent back to prison, and I could not let her do that without warning you. I felt like the world was tilting. She would not. Even Vanessa would not do that. Claire, she is not thinking straight, Jessica said. She is desperate, and desperate people do crazy things.

 I left the coffee shop in a days. I called Michael immediately and told him everything. He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “I knew something like this might happen. People do not like when ex-cons try to build normal lives. There is always someone who wants to tear you down. We need to do something.

” I said, “We need to stop her. There is nothing to stop, Michael said. I did not threaten her. I did not do anything wrong. If she files a false report, it will get thrown out. But it will be on your record, I said. It will follow you. Michael sighed. Yeah, probably. I had never felt rage like what I felt in that moment.

 Pure burning rage at Vanessa for being so selfish, so cruel, so empty that she would try to destroy someone’s life just to feel powerful. I spent the next two days trying to figure out what to do. I considered calling Vanessa and threatening her. I considered warning my parents. I considered going to a lawyer. Then Michael said something that changed everything.

 He said, “What if we just let her do it?” I stared at him. “What? What if we let her file the false report?” Michael said, “Let her lie to the police. Let her put it in writing and then we prove she is lying.” How? Michael pulled out his phone. He opened his voice memo app. I recorded our conversation at Thanksgiving. The one by the drink table when she gave me her number.

 I record a lot of conversations now just in case. Prison habit. He played it. Vanessa’s voice came through crystal clear. Claire is damaged and insecure. You seem like a smart guy. You could do so much better. Here is my number. Call me if you want to have a real conversation. Then Michael’s voice. I am not interested.

 You should probably work on being a better person before you try to ruin anyone else’s life. Vanessa’s laugh. Bitter and sharp. Wow, you are just like her. Judgmental and boring. The recording ended. This proves she was coming on to me. Michael said if she claims I threatened her or made her uncomfortable. This recording contradicts that.

 It shows she was the aggressor. I looked at him. You recorded that just in case? I told you. Michael said 7 years in prison teaches you to protect yourself. We decided to wait. If Vanessa filed a false report, we would use the recording to prove she was lying. If she did not, we would just move on with our lives. 3 weeks went by.

Nothing happened. I started to think maybe Jessica was wrong. Maybe Vanessa had backed down. Then my mom called. She said Vanessa had been in a car accident. Not serious, just a fender bender, but she was shaken up. She wanted me to come visit her in the hospital. I said no. My mom was angry.

 She said I was being cruel, that Vanessa was family, that I needed to put aside whatever petty grudge I was holding. I hung up, but I felt guilty. I have always felt guilty when it comes to my family. That is what they trained me to do. Feel guilty for having boundaries. Feel guilty for protecting myself. So, I went to the hospital.

 Not because I wanted to see Vanessa, but because I wanted to prove to myself that I was the bigger person. Vanessa was in a private room sitting up in bed with a small bandage on her forehead. She looked surprised to see me. Claire, she said. I did not think you would come. I almost did not, I said. But mom said you wanted to see me. Vanessa looked down at her hands. I did.

I need to tell you something. I waited. I have been really messed up, Vanessa said. Her voice was quiet, shaky, like really, really messed up. My therapist says, “I have been using male attention to avoid dealing with trauma from when I was younger. And I know that is not an excuse for what I have done to you, for what I have done to all your relationships.

” I did not say anything,” Vanessa continued, tears running down her face now. “I have been so jealous of you for so long. You have always had your life together. Good job, your own apartment. You are smart and funny, and people actually like you, and I have nothing, just my looks, and I have been so terrified of losing that, of becoming invisible, that I have been trying to prove I am better than you by taking the one thing you had that I did not.

 My relationships,” I said. “Yes,” Vanessa whispered. And I know that is so messed up. I know I have hurt you so badly. And I am sorry. I am so so sorry. I stood there looking at her. This woman who had tormented me for years, who had destroyed relationship after relationship, who had made me feel worthless and invisible and broken.

 And now she was crying, apologizing, admitting she was the problem. I should have felt vindicated. I should have felt triumphant. Instead, I just felt tired. I do not forgive you, I said. I do not know if I ever will, but I appreciate you finally admitting what you have done. Vanessa nodded, still crying. I turned to leave.

 Then I stopped and looked back at her. For what it is worth, I hope you get the help you need. I hope you figure out who you are beyond your looks. But I will not be part of that journey. Do not contact me. Do not contact Michael. Just leave us alone. I walked out in the hallway. I ran into Jessica. She hugged me.

 She said, “I am proud of you.” I asked her what happened, why Vanessa suddenly had this change of heart. Jessica looked uncomfortable. She got a call from her therapist this morning. Apparently, the police contacted the therapist because Vanessa had made an appointment to file a report against Michael. The therapist convinced her it was a terrible idea, that it would ruin her life and his, and that she needed to confront what she was actually feeling instead of trying to destroy someone else. I felt dizzy.

 She was really going to do it. Yeah, Jessica said, but she did not. That has to count for something, right? I did not answer. I left the hospital and called Michael. I told him everything. He was quiet for a minute, then said, so it is over. I think so, I said. Good, Michael said. Because I have something to ask you.

 My heart skipped. What? Move in with me. I laughed, surprised. What? Move in with me, Michael said again. I know we have only been together for a few months, but I have spent 7 years alone in a cell, and I do not want to waste any more time. I love you. I want to build a life with you. So, move in with me, I said.

Yes. I moved in with Michael in March. We got a small apartment near his work. Nothing fancy, but it was ours. We adopted a dog from the shelter, a mut named Rocket, who had been abandoned by his previous owners. We started building a life together that was quiet and normal and boring in the best possible way. I did not talk to Vanessa.

 I did not go to Easter or Mother’s Day. I kept in touch with Jessica and my brother, but everyone else in my family could wait. My mom called in June and asked if I was coming to the Fourth of July barbecue. I said no. She cried and said I was tearing the family apart. I said the family was already torn apart.

 I was just finally admitting it. Then something happened that I did not expect. Vanessa sent me a letter, an actual physical letter in the mail. I almost threw it away without reading it, but curiosity got the better of me. The letter was long, handwritten, and raw. Vanessa wrote about her childhood, about being sexually abused by a family friend when she was 12, about how nobody believed her when she told her parents.

She wrote about learning that her looks were the only thing people valued about her, that her body was the only currency she had. She wrote about years of therapy, of medication, of trying to figure out why she was so broken. She wrote about me, about how watching me succeed in life while she fell apart made her feel worthless.

 About how she convinced herself that if she could just take away my happiness, she would feel better about herself. She wrote that she was in intensive therapy now, that she had cut off contact with toxic friends. that she was trying to build a life based on something other than male validation.

 She wrote that she did not expect forgiveness. She just wanted me to understand. At the end of the letter, she included a print out of a photo. It was from one of the times she had stolen a boyfriend from me, David. I think they were at some party smiling for the camera. On the back of the photo, she had written, “I am sorry I made you feel invisible.

 The truth is I was the one who felt invisible. I showed the letter to Michael. He read it carefully, then looked at me. What are you going to do?” “I do not know,” I said honestly. “You do not owe her anything,” Michael said. “Not forgiveness, not understanding, nothing. She hurt you repeatedly. You get to decide if she deserves another chance.

 Do you think she deserves another chance? I asked. Michael thought about it. I think people can change. I did. But change is hard and most people do not put in the work. So maybe she will, maybe she will not. But that is not your problem to solve. He was right. I knew he was right. I wrote Vanessa a short letter back.

 I said I had read her letter, that I was sorry for what she had been through, but that I still needed distance. I said maybe one day we could have some kind of relationship, but not now. Not yet. She wrote back saying she understood. That was a year and a half ago. Last month, I got a call from Jessica. She said Vanessa was engaged to a woman named Monica, who she met at her therapy group.

 They had been together for a year and Vanessa was different, calmer, happier, more genuine. Jessica said Vanessa wanted to invite me to the wedding, but was too nervous to ask. I told Jessica I would think about it. I talked to Michael about it that night. He said it was up to me that he would support whatever I decided.

 I asked if he would come with me if I decided to go. He smiled. To watch you face your family again after a year. I would not miss it. I called Vanessa the next day. We talked for 2 hours. She told me about Monica, about how therapy was helping, about how she was trying to be a different person. I told her about my life with Michael, about our apartment, about the dog.

 It was weird talking to her like a normal person instead of an enemy. At the end of the call, she asked if I would come to the wedding. She said she would understand if I said no, but that it would mean a lot to her if I was there. I said yes. The wedding is in two months. I have no idea how I will feel seeing my family again, seeing Vanessa marry someone and claim to be a changed person.

 I do not know if I believe people can really change or if Vanessa is just better at hiding her demons now, but I guess I will find out. Michael says that is the thing about life after prison. You learn to take things one day at a time. You learn that people are messy and complicated and sometimes awful. But sometimes they surprise you.

He says I surprised him. That he never thought he would get out of prison and meet someone who loved him despite his past. that he never thought he would get a second chance at a normal life. I tell him he surprised me too. That he was the first person who ever chose me over Vanessa.

 The first person who saw through her games and decided I was worth more. We are sitting on our couch now, rocket curled up between us, talking about whether we should get a cat. Michael says yes. I say we already have a dog. He says that is exactly why we need a cat for balance. I am laughing because this is my life now. Arguing about pets with a man who spent 7 years in prison and somehow became the most stable, honest person I have ever known.

My phone buzzes. It is a text from Vanessa. Thank you for saying yes to the wedding. It means everything to me. I text back. See you there. I do not know what will happen at that wedding. I do not know if Vanessa and I will ever have a real relationship or if my family will ever understand why I needed to protect myself from them for so long.

 But for the first time in my life, I am not worried about it because I have Michael and our dog and our tiny apartment and our quiet, boring, beautiful life. And that is enough. Actually, it is more than enough. It is everything.