A few days later, we took Margaret to a psychiatrist in Cambridge. She sat quietly through the appointment, hands folded, eyes downcast.
When the doctor gently asked what she thought was happening at night, her voice trembled.
“I have to make sure he’s safe,” she said. “He’ll come back. I can’t lose my son again.”
Later, the doctor spoke to us privately. Thirty years ago, he explained, Margaret and her husband had lived in upstate New York. One night, an intruder broke into their home. Her husband confronted the man — and didn’t survive.
From that night forward, she had lived in fear that the intruder would return. When I entered Liam’s life, that fear latched onto me. She didn’t truly see me — she saw a stranger who might take her son away, just as tragedy had before.
I felt a wave of sorrow and guilt. I had feared her, but she had been living in fear all along.
A Family Begins to Heal
The doctor recommended therapy, medication, and — most importantly — patience. “Trauma doesn’t disappear,” he said softly. “But love and consistency can help quiet it.”
That evening, Margaret approached me in tears. “I don’t want to scare you,” she whispered. “I just want to make sure my son is safe.”
For the first time, I reached for her hand. “You don’t have to knock anymore,” I said gently. “We’re all safe now.”
She cried, not with anger, but with relief.
Finding Peace Together
The following weeks were not easy. There were still nights when she woke and thought she heard footsteps, moments when fear flickered in her eyes. But little by little, we built new habits.
Every evening, the three of us checked the doors together — not out of fear, but as a shared ritual of reassurance. We installed smart locks, made tea, and talked before bed. Slowly, the knocking stopped.
Margaret’s laughter returned. Her eyes softened. The house felt lighter, filled again with warmth instead of worry.
The doctor called it progress. I called it peace.
En na verloop van tijd leerde ik iets dat de manier waarop ik haar zag veranderde – en mensen in het algemeen.
Iemand genezen betekent niet dat je hem moet repareren. Het betekent naast hen lopen, door angst en herinnering, totdat ze hun weg terug naar het licht vinden.
