Chapter 27
Ethan received a letter one autumn afternoon.
It was from a lawyer.
Not Robert. Another lawyer.
The letter was from Margaret.
She was dying.
Cancer. The doctors gave her six months.
She wanted to see Ethan. One last time.
Ethan stared at the letter for a long time.
He didn't know what to feel.
Anger? Yes. She had murdered his father. Tried to murder him. Destroyed his life.
Pity? Maybe. She was dying alone in prison. Abandoned by everyone. The son she had raised hated her. The man she had loved was also in prison. The daughter she had favored had run away and changed her name.
Nothing?
That was what surprised him most.
Mostly, he felt nothing.
She had become a ghost from his past. A character in a story he had already finished reading.
He showed the letter to Claire.
She read it. Then she looked at him.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don't know,” Ethan said honestly. “Part of me never wants to see her again. Part of me... I don't know. Curious, maybe. About what she could possibly have to say.”
Claire took his hand.
“Whatever you decide, I support you. If you want to go, I'll go with you. If you don't, that's okay too. You owe her nothing, Ethan. Nothing.”
Ethan thought about it for three days.
Finally, he decided to go.
Not because he owed her anything.
Not because he wanted closure.
But because he wanted to look her in the eye one last time. To show her that he had survived. That he had won.
Claire went with him.
They traveled to the prison where Margaret was being held.
It was a maximum-security facility. Cold. Impersonal.
They sat in the visiting room. Waited.
Margaret was brought in.
She looked terrible.
Thin. Frail. Her hair was gray and thin. Her skin was sallow. The cancer was eating her alive.
She looked at Ethan. Her eyes widened.
Then she looked at Claire.
And for a moment, Ethan saw something in her eyes.
Regret?
Envy?
Maybe both.
“Ethan,” she said. Her voice was weak. Raspy.
“Mother.”
She sat down across from them. The glass between them.
“You came.”
“I came.”
She looked at Claire.
“Claire. You look... well.”
“I am well,” Claire said. Her voice was steady. No anger. No malice. Just calm.
Margaret looked back at Ethan.
“I'm dying.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to say... I wanted to say I'm sorry.”
The words hung in the air.
Ethan waited.
“I'm sorry for what I did to your father. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm sorry for everything.”
She paused.
“I was weak. I was selfish. I wanted things I couldn't have. I made choices that destroyed everything. And I've had seven years to think about it. Seven years to live with what I've done.”
Tears ran down her face.
“I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't deserve forgiveness. But I needed you to know. That I'm sorry. That I loved you. In my own way. Even when I was doing terrible things, I loved you.”
Ethan looked at her.
The woman who had given birth to him.
The woman who had murdered his father.
The woman who had tried to murder him.
The woman who had thrown his pregnant wife out on the street.
He thought about his children. About the love he felt for them. The unconditional, all-consuming love that would make him die for them without a second thought.
He couldn't imagine ever hurting them. Ever betraying them. Ever choosing anything over them.
And he realized that whatever Margaret had felt for him, it wasn't love.
It was possession. Obsession. Control.
But it wasn't love.
“I don't forgive you,” Ethan said quietly. “I don't think I ever will. But I hope you find peace. In whatever time you have left.”
Margaret nodded. Tears continued to fall.
“Your children?” she said. “How are they?”
“They're perfect,” Claire said. “James is ten and wants to be a doctor. William is ten and wants to be an actor. Michael is ten and wants to protect everyone. Olivia is five and wants to be a knight princess. They're happy. They're loved. They'll never know what it's like to be betrayed by the people who are supposed to love them.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Good,” she whispered. “That's... good.”
The guard came over. Time was up.
Margaret looked at Ethan one last time.
“Goodbye, Ethan.”
“Goodbye, Mother.”
They left.
Ethan didn't look back.
As they walked out of the prison, into the fresh air and sunshine, Claire squeezed his hand.
“Are you okay?”
Ethan took a deep breath.
Let it out.
“I'm fine,” he said. “I'm more than fine.”
He felt lighter.
As if a weight he had been carrying for years had finally been lifted.
May you like
It was over.
Truly over.
