Chapter 13 - The Letter to DanburyFederal Correctional Institution, Danbury, Connecticut.
Victoria sat at the low metal desk in her cell, staring at an unopened envelope bearing a Florida postmark. It had taken her three months to muster the courage to break the seal.
Inside was a single photograph and a short, handwritten note.
The photograph showed a baby boy sitting in the sand, laughing as the foamy surf lapped at his bare feet. Behind him, Clara smiled toward the camera, radiant and at peace.
May you like
The note read: Victoria, David is healthy and learning to crawl. He will grow up knowing the truth of his family—both its errors and its potential for redemption. We do not hate you. When your sentence ends, if you wish to know your nephew as a human being and not an heir, our door will not be locked. — Clara.
Victoria held the letter. For the first time since her arrest, she did not tear the paper. She did not curse. She pressed her face into her hands and let the tears flow—not from rage, but from the slow, agonizing thaw of a frozen heart.
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