What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to gain someone’s approval?

Forgiveness and New Handshakes

The first few weeks at Joseph’s place were weird as hell. His apartment wasn’t huge, but it felt like a mansion compared to the suffocating atmosphere of my mom’s house. He lived about an hour away in this decent complex with a pool and everything. Daisy got the spare bedroom with the twin bed, and I crashed on the pullout couch in the living room.

Not going to lie, that couch had a metal bar that dug into my back every night, but I didn’t care. I was just happy to be somewhere safe. Joseph was pretty cool about the whole situation. He worked from home doing some tech support jobs, so he was around most of the time.

He didn’t hover or ask a bunch of questions, just let us settle in and figure things out. His girlfriend Sarah came over sometimes. She was nice, too. Always bringing Daisy little coloring books and stuff.

Daisy still wouldn’t really talk to me. She’d answer direct questions with nods or one-word responses, but that was it. At night, I could hear her crying through the thin walls. I wanted to go comfort her, but I knew she wouldn’t want me anywhere near her. That was the worst part, knowing I was the source of her nightmares.

About a week after we moved in, Joseph’s mom, my aunt Beverly, came to visit. She brought a ton of food and some clothes for us since we left in such a hurry. While Daisy was taking a nap, Aunt Beverly sat me down at the kitchen table.

“I need you to be honest with me,” she said, her face serious about everything that happened.

So, I told her all of it. The years of Trevor’s abuse, how he manipulated me, what I did to Daisy, everything. I kept waiting for her to look disgusted or angry, but she just listened, occasionally wiping away tears. When I finished, she took my hands and hers.

“I always knew something wasn’t right with Trevor, even when he was little. the way he’d hurt animals when no one was looking. How he’d lie so convincingly. Your mom never wanted to see it.” . “She still doesn’t believe me,” I said, staring at the table. “She will,” Aunt Beverly said firmly. “She just needs time to process everything. It’s not easy to admit you’ve been fooled by your own child.” .

The next day, Aunt Beverly to Daisy to a child psychologist she knew. Dr. Morgan specialized in trauma cases and had this super calm office with lots of toys and soft lighting. I stayed in the waiting room, flipping through old magazines and trying not to think about all the damage I’d caused.

After the session, Dr. Morgan asked to speak with me alone. My stomach dropped to my feet. I was sure she was going to tell me I was a monster, that I should stay away from Daisy forever. Instead, she sat me down and said,

“Daisy told me what happened. Not just what you did, but what your brother told you.” . “She heard more than you realized.” .

I didn’t know what to say to that. I just sat there picking at a loose thread on my jeans.

“What you did was wrong.” Dr. Morgan continued, her voice gentle, but firm. “But you were also a victim of manipulation and abuse. That doesn’t excuse your actions, but it helps explain them.” .

She recommended I start seeing a therapist, too. Joseph found me someone the next day. This guy named Doctor Kenneth, who specialized in teenage trauma. He didn’t sugarcoat things or tell me I was blameless, but he helped me understand how Trevor had systematically broken down my sense of right and wrong.

“Your brother is what we call a high functioning sociopath.” Dr. Kenneth explained during one session. “He lacks empathy, but is very good at mimicking it when necessary. People like that are expert manipulators.” .

Meanwhile, my mom was sending mixed messages. She texts Joseph asking how we were doing, but never asked to speak to me directly. She sent money for our expenses, but didn’t visit. It was like she couldn’t decide if she believed me or not. Trevor, on the other hand, got kicked out. Aunt Beverly told me my mom finally listened to the recordings and confronted him.

He denied everything at first, then got angry and broke a bunch of stuff in the house. My mom called the police and they escorted him off the property. He ended up staying with some family friend named Willie who lived a few towns over.

About a month after we left, my mom finally called me. The conversation was awkward as hell. She didn’t exactly apologize, but she did say she was processing everything and trying to understand. She asked to speak to Daisy, but Daisy refused to come to the phone. I couldn’t blame her.

Life settled into a weird new normal. I started online school through a program Joseph found. Daisy went to a real school nearby. Joseph and Aunt Beverly thought it would be good for her to be around other kids.

I’d walk her there every morning and pick her up every afternoon, waiting at a distance so I wouldn’t freak her out. She’d walk to me silently and we’d head back to Joseph’s place without talking.

One day, about 2 months after we’d moved in, something changed. We were walking home from school when Daisy suddenly stopped and pointed at an ice cream truck parked across the street.

“Can we get some?” she asked. It was the first time she’d initiated a conversation with me in months.

I was so surprised. I just stood there for a second before nodding.

“Yeah, of course.” . We got our ice creams, chocolate for her, vanilla for me, and sat on a bench in the small park near Joseph’s apartment.

Daisy licked her cone carefully, making sure nothing dripped.

“Doctor Morgan says you were hurt, too.” She said suddenly, her eyes on her ice cream. “By Trevor.” I nearly choked. “Yeah, I was.” . “She says, “That’s why you hurt me.” Because you were hurt first.” .

I didn’t know what to say to that. It was true, but it felt like an excuse.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” I finally said. “What I did was wrong. And I’m so so sorry, Daisy.” . She nodded, still not looking at me. “I know.” . We finished our ice cream in silence, but something had shifted. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. But it was a start.

The next week, I got a text from my mom asking if she could visit. I was nervous as hell, but said yes. Joseph offered to be there as a buffer, but I told him I needed to handle this myself.

My mom showed up looking tired and older somehow, like she’d aged years and just a few months. She brought gifts, new clothes for both of us, books, toys for Daisy. We sat in Joseph’s living room, the air thick with tension.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” my mom said after an awkward silence. “She’s helping me understand everything.” . I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. “I should have protected you,” she continued, her voice cracking. “From Trevor, I should have seen what was happening.” .

“You didn’t want to see it,” I said, the words coming out harsher than I intended. She flinched, but nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t. It was easier to believe he was perfect than to admit something was wrong.” .

We talked for hours that day, really talked, maybe for the first time ever. She told me how Trevor had always been difficult, even as a baby. How she convinced herself his behavior was normal, just boys being boys. How she’d been so focused on keeping him happy that she’d overlooked what he was doing to me.

“I failed you,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “And then, I failed you again by not believing you.” . It wasn’t a perfect conversation. There were moments of defensiveness, of her trying to justify her choices, but it was honest, and that was something we’d never really had before.

Daisy refused to see my mom that day. She stayed in her room the entire visit, only coming out after my mom left. I didn’t push her. She talked to my mom when she was ready, if ever.

Over the next few months, things slowly improved. Daisy started talking to me more little by little. She’d asked me to help with her homework or watch TV with her. One night, she even asked me to read her a bedtime story like I used to before everything went wrong.

My mom visited regularly, bringing updates about home and taking both of us out for lunch or to the movies. She told us Trevor had moved three states away after the family friend kicked him out for stealing. Last she heard he was working at some retail job and living in a crappy apartment. No one in the family was speaking to him anymore.

Dr. Morgan suggested family therapy sessions, me, Daisy, and my mom together. They were uncomfortable as hell at first. Lots of crying and accusations and painful truths. But slowly, we started to heal. Not completely. Some wounds were too deep for that, but enough to function as a family again.

6 months after we left, my mom asked if we wanted to come home. Joseph had been amazing, but his apartment wasn’t meant for three people long term. Plus, I knew he and Sarah were talking about moving in together.

Daisy and I talked about it privately.

“We could ask mom to move.” I suggested find a new place without all the history. Daisy thought about it, then nodded. “I’d like that,” . so that’s what we did.

My mom sold the old house and found a smaller one in a different neighborhood. New house, new start. She let us pick our own room colors and furniture. Daisy chose purple walls with silver stars painted on the ceiling. I went with plain blue, but splurged on this awesome gaming chair I’ve been wanting forever.

Moving day was chaotic, but kind of fun. Joseph and Sarah helped along with Aunt Beverly and a couple of my mom’s friends. By evening, we had the basics unpacked, beds made, kitchen functional, TV setup. We ordered pizza and sat on the floor of our new living room, exhausted but happy.

That night, after everyone left and my mom went to bed, I found Daisy sitting on the back porch looking at the stars.

“You okay?” I asked, sitting beside her. She nodded, “just thinking,” about what? She was quiet for a moment.

“About our handshakes. We used to have special ones, remember?” . My heart squeezed. “Yeah, I remember.” . “I forgot them,” she said softly. “All of them?” . I swallowed hard. “We could make new ones.” .

She looked at me then, really looked at me for the first time in forever.

“I’d like that.” . So, we did. Right there on the back porch of our new house, we created a new handshake. It wasn’t as complicated as our old ones. Just a high five, two fist bumps, and a finger snap. But it was ours. Something new that wasn’t tainted by the past.

Two years have passed since then. Things aren’t perfect. They never are in real life. Daisy still has nightmares sometimes. I still struggle with guilt and anger issues. My mom still has moments where she blames herself for everything that happened, but we’re doing okay.

Daisy just turned 8 last week. We had a small party with some friends from her school. I got her this cool blanket fort kit with lights and special clips to hold the blankets in place. My mom got her a bike with purple streamers. Aunt Beverly and Joseph came with Sarah, who’s now his fianceé.

After everyone left, I gave Daisy my last gift. A new set of shoelaces in all different colors. She smiled that gap tothed smile that always makes my heart hurt a little.

“Thanks,” she said, immediately sitting down to replace her plain white laces with rainbow ones. “I have one more thing,” I told her. I held up my hand, palm up. “A new handshake just for us.” .

Her eyes lit up as I taught her the sequence, more complex than our last one with claps and twists and a spin at the end. We practiced until we got it perfect, laughing when we messed up.

As for Trevor, we don’t talk about him much. I heard he got fired from his job for stealing from the register. No surprise there. Sometimes I wonder if he’s manipulating new people, creating new victims. The thought keeps me up at night.

But then I look at Daisy, growing stronger every day, learning to trust again, her smile coming more easily now. And I focus on what I can control. I can’t change the past or fix Trevor. But I can be the sister Daisy deserves, the daughter my mom needs, and maybe someday, a person I can be proud of. It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s ours. And we’re making it work one day at a.