Chapter 22
Spring came.
The flowers bloomed.
The trees turned green.
Ethan made the select soccer team.
He was the youngest kid on the roster.
Scored three goals in his first game.
I screamed so loud my throat was sore for three days.
Sophie made the state debate team.
Her speech this year was about how “family” shouldn’t be defined by blood, but by love and respect.
She won first place again.
Got a standing ovation.
I cried.
Again.
I was working with a new family now.
Three little girls whose mom had a drug problem.
Their dad was gone.
Grandma was taking care of them.
But Grandma was old.
Tired.
Sick.
She couldn’t keep up.
The system wanted to split the girls up.
Send them to three different foster homes.
I fought it.
Hard.
Spent three months working the case.
Found a foster family who would take all three.
Got Grandma into a better healthcare program.
Connected the girls with therapy.
Got them into a good school.
Six months later, all three girls were thriving.
Happy.
Healthy.
Together.
Grandma got to see them every weekend.
She brought me a blanket she’d knitted for my kids.
Blue, with dinosaurs on it.
For Ethan.
I kept it on the back of my couch.
Life was full.
Busy.
Good.
And then, one Tuesday in May, I got a call from the state prison.
“Ms. Carter?” a man’s voice said. “This is Officer Riley at the state correctional facility. I’m calling about inmate Melissa Bennett. She’s up for parole next month. Due to her good behavior and participation in several rehabilitation programs, the board is leaning toward granting her early release. We’re required to notify victims and give them an opportunity to speak at the hearing. Would you like to make a statement?”
I froze.
Parole.
Melissa was getting out early.
Four-year sentence.
She’d served two.
Half.
For good behavior.
I felt the old anger rise up in my chest.
Hot and sharp.
She’d threatened a teenager.
Called my son trash.
Tried to bribe a witness.
Tried to take my kids.
And now she was getting out after only two years?
For good behavior?
“Ms. Carter?” the officer said again. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” I said. My voice was tight. “When’s the hearing?”
“Two weeks from today. You can come in person, submit a written statement, or speak over the phone. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“I’ll be there,” I said. “In person.”
I hung up.
Sat at my desk.
Stared at Ethan’s letter taped in front of me.
Stared at Jax’s drawing.
I thought about what I’d tell the parole board.
About all the things Melissa had done.
About how she’d never really apologized.
About how her letter from prison had been full of excuses, not remorse.
About how she’d violated the restraining order just by sending it.
I would make sure they understood.
She wasn’t reformed.
She was just better at hiding it.
She was a narcissist.
Just like Mom.
They didn’t change.
They just learned to say the right things to get what they wanted.
I would not let her out.
Not now.
Not ever.
May you like
I’d fight it.
Every step of the way.
