Chapter 9 - Shadows of the Past
A year after the trial, a thick brown envelope arrived at my office desk.
It was from the Illinois Department of Corrections.
Inside was a handwritten letter from Valeria, sent from her correctional facility in northern Illinois.
I opened it and read the messy, desperate handwriting across the lined paper:
Arthur, I am writing to formally apologize for everything I did. The prison life is unbearable. I am working in the laundry unit for eighty cents an hour. My salon is gone, my reputation is destroyed, and I have nothing left. Please, I beg you to contact the parole board and support my early release petition. Julian won't answer my letters. You are the only one who can help me.
I read the letter twice, sitting in the quiet silence of my office.
I thought back to the freezing glass of ice water thrown in my face at nine in the morning.
I thought back to sleeping on the couch in the home I had built.
I thought back to Eleanor's ruined wedding photo lying shattered on a cold garage floor.
I folded the letter carefully, walked over to the paper shredder beside my desk, and fed the pages directly into the blades.
The machine hummed softly, turning her words into fine, meaningless dust.
May you like
Some debts cannot be erased with desperate letters. Some lessons must be lived to the very end.
I picked up my jacket, locked my office door, and walked out to the warehouse floor to join my son.
