“Maybe we both need some help processing everything that’s happened.” I looked at him questioningly. “Therapy,” he clarified individually and maybe together, too. “I think I think I need to understand why I was so susceptible to someone like Natalie, and we should talk about how to rebuild trust between us.”
His maturity and self-awareness moved me. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” We found an excellent therapist who specialized in helping people recover from relationships with narcissistic and manipulative partners.
Doctor Carter helped Jackson understand the tactics Natalie had used to isolate him and undermine his confidence in his own perceptions. She helped me recognize that my fear of losing my son had sometimes caused me to be overly protective, which had created vulnerabilities Natalie had expertly exploited.
6 months after the wedding day debacle, I made a decision about the inheritance money that had been the catalyst for so much pain. I set up three separate trusts. One for Jackson with reasonable access provisions, one for future grandchildren’s education, and the third, a new foundation dedicated to helping victims of emotional and psychological abuse.
The Wilson Foundation for empowerment and recovery quickly became my new passion. We funded research, provided emergency assistance to people leaving abusive situations, and developed educational programs to help people recognize the warning signs of manipulation and control.
During this time, my hair had begun to grow back, but to everyone’s surprise, including my own, I decided to keep it very short. The woman who had emerged from this ordeal was different from the one who had entered it. She was stronger, more direct, less concerned with appearances and tradition for traditions sake.
“I kind of like the new look,” Jackson commented one day as we toured a potential new office space for the foundation. “It suits you. Bold, nonsense distinctive.” I laughed. “It certainly makes my morning routine simpler.”
Jackson had thrown himself into his architectural work, finding healing and creativity. He had also become involved with the foundation, designing a series of transitional housing units for people leaving abusive relationships.
Natalie continued her attempts to insert herself into our lives for several months, alternating between playing the victim and making threats. When she realized that neither approach was working, she eventually moved to another state. We later heard she had become engaged to another wealthy man, but his family, having somehow learned of her history with us, had intervened before the wedding.
One year to the day after the failed wedding, Jackson and I sat in my garden again, sharing a bottle of wine and watching the sunset. “You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asked. “What’s that?”
“How something so terrible turned into something kind of wonderful?” He gestured toward the garden. “If Natalie hadn’t shown her true colors in such a dramatic way, I might be trapped in a miserable marriage right now. You might still be trying to maintain a relationship with a daughter-in-law who despised you, and the foundation wouldn’t exist, which means all the people we’ve been able to help wouldn’t have received that support.”
I considered his words. “There’s wisdom in that perspective. Not that I’d recommend having your head shaved in your sleep as a growth experience,” I added with a ry smile. He laughed, then grew serious again.
“I’m sorry she did that to you, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.” “And I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from having your heart broken,” I replied. “But maybe some lessons can only be learned through pain.”