Chapter 12 - A Mother’s Final PleaThree days before the trial was set to begin, a letter arrived from the county jail. It was written on cheap, lined commissary paper, the handwriting shaky and uneven.
Clara sat at the dining table, holding the unopened envelope out to Jack. “It’s from her.”
Jack took the envelope, turned it over in his hand, and walked out onto the back porch. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of burning oak leaves from neighboring yards. He sliced the seal open with his pocketknife and read:
“Jack, The lawyers say I am looking at five to seven years in a state facility. They want me to plead guilty to spare you and Clara the embarrassment of a public trial. Jack, I am your mother. I carried you for nine months. I gave up my youth so you could have an education, so you could be an officer and a gentleman. How can you sit back and watch these strangers put me in a cage? Tell the prosecutor that it was a family dispute. Tell them you forgive me. If you do this, I promise I will never speak to Clara again. I will move to Florida. Just don't destroy what’s left of my life for a mistake born out of fear of losing you. Your loving Mother.”
Jack read the letter twice. There was no apology to Clara. No acknowledgment of the iron, the bruise, or the terror she had inflicted on an innocent woman. Even on the precipice of prison, her entire universe revolved around her convenience, her pride, and her entitlement.
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He folded the letter neatly, pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, and held the flame to the corner of the paper. He watched it curl into black ash, letting the breeze carry the flakes away over the wooden fence.
“No more games,” he said to the wind. “No more bargains.”
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