The story begins with a woman, let’s call her Sarah, who at 38 years old found herself grappling with a wave of emotions after the death of her uncle, a man she had not seen or spoken to in nearly two decades. Her uncle was no ordinary man; he had spent years in prison for heinous crimes against young girls and women, including Sarah herself. The trauma of her childhood hung over her like a dark cloud, making the news of her uncle’s passing far from significant.
One day, Sarah received a series of frantic messages from her cousin, Emily. They had shared a home for a brief period when they were both children—Sarah was 9, and Emily was 11. For Sarah, that year was marred by her uncle’s abusive behavior, while Emily had been raised under what seemed to her an ordinary family structure. Upon receiving Emily’s messages, Sarah’s mind raced. After a few exchanges, Emily revealed that her “dad”—the same uncle who had abused Sarah—had passed away. Sarah’s reaction was visceral. While she managed to keep her thoughts to herself, the relief that washed over her was undeniable. The man who had caused her so much pain was finally gone, and she felt nothing but indifference.
When Emily reached out, her tone was laced with confusion and perhaps a hint of anger. She had grown up calling this man “Daddy,” a title that felt repugnant to Sarah after everything she had endured. “I don’t care that he’s dead,” Sarah finally responded, her frustration boiling to the surface. She had distanced herself from any reminders of her uncle, and the notion that anyone could mourn his loss baffled her. For Sarah, the uncle was a monster; for Emily, he was a father figure.
After sending her initial message, Sarah found herself in an unexpected position; she was being labeled the “asshole” by those around her. Friends and relatives chimed in, urging Sarah to show compassion for Emily, asserting that regardless of the circumstances, a father’s death is inherently tragic. But how could Sarah be expected to feel remorse or grief for someone who had inflicted pain not just on her, but on countless others? The idea that she should mourn the loss of her abuser simply because of societal expectations felt absurd.
As the days passed and her phone lit up with notifications from Emily, Sarah found herself oscillating between anger and sadness. Emily, enveloped in her own confusion, continued to reach out, expressing her sorrow over the “loss of her dad” and asking why Sarah couldn’t understand her pain. Each message left Sarah feeling increasingly uneasy. How could Emily still call that man “Daddy”? Did she not realize the monster he had been?
Realizing that the gulf between them was far wider than she had imagined, Sarah considered blocking Emily. It wasn’t a decision she took lightly. After all, they shared a childhood—however brief—and a familial connection. But the idea of maintaining contact with someone who could rationalize the affection for a man like her uncle was becoming unbearable. Sarah felt trapped; a part of her longed for connection, while another part yearned to sever ties completely. The very thought of being drawn back into a world where her uncle was seen in a sympathetic light was exhausting.
Yet, as she sat with these feelings, Sarah couldn’t ignore the weight of societal expectations pressing down on her. She thought about the judgments of others who felt she should be more empathetic, more forgiving. But forgiveness is a complex monster of its own, and Sarah didn’t owe that to a man who had hurt her profoundly. Within her heart, she felt justified in her indifference, but the nagging voices in her head urged her to reconsider her actions.
In the end, Sarah faced a dilemma that many could relate to—the conflict between societal expectations and personal trauma. Should she continue to engage with a cousin who had an entirely different perspective on their shared history? Or was it time to cut the ties that connected her to painful memories? The decision loomed heavy as she considered the implications of both choices, trapped in a web of her own making, a legacy of abuse that would not vanish with silence.
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