Two years later, Abigail often visited his office after school and had grown into a thoughtful and compassionate child. One afternoon, a letter arrived from a state prison where Olivia was serving her sentence.
“She wants to see us,” Franklin said carefully. “You do not have to go.”
Abigail considered the letter quietly. “I want to go for myself, because I do not want anger living in my heart.”
During the visit, Olivia looked older and stripped of her former elegance, and she wept as she apologized for her lies and cruelty. Abigail listened calmly and then said, “I forgive you not because it was right, but because my father and I are happy, and we do not need bitterness.”
As they left the prison under a bright sun, Franklin squeezed her hand. “For a long time I thought I rescued you in that courtroom,” he admitted softly.
She tilted her head. “Did you not.”
He smiled gently. “No, because I was wealthy but empty, and you taught me loyalty and courage, and you gave me a family.”
Abigail hugged him tightly. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, my daughter,” he replied, as they walked toward their car and drove into a future built on truth and chosen love rather than deception and greed.
