My husband Daniel backhanded me so hard I staggered into the wall, all because I’d refused to unlock the front door for his mother Gloria—the woman who’d called me barren garbage just three days prior and promised she’d make him leave me.

William’s first birthday was in June.

Lily threw a small party at her apartment. Just her parents. A few friends from college. Me.

William was walking now. Sort of. Wobbly steps. Big grin. He had my father’s name and Daniel’s eyes, but he was all Lily otherwise. Curious. Loud. Happy.

Lily had graduated college that spring. Summa cum laude. She had a job teaching first grade at the elementary school downtown. She was dating a nice guy named Mark who coached soccer and loved the baby like his own.

Everything I had wanted for her.

“Here,” I said. Handed her the box Eleanor had given me. “These are from Daniel’s biological mother. William’s great-grandmother, technically. She thought you might want them.”

Lily opened the box.

The tiny blanket. The knit hat. The little booties.

She cried.

“They’re perfect,” she said. “Thank you. For everything. I never would have made it through this year without you.”

William walked over to me. Grabbed my leg. Looked up.

“Ca!” he yelled.

Everyone laughed.

“That’s the closest he can get to Clara,” Lily said. “He says it all the time. When he sees your photo. When we talk about you. ‘Ca! Ca!’”

I picked him up. He was heavy. Solid. Warm. He grabbed my nose with his sticky fingers.

“Hi, William,” I said.

He smiled. A big, toothy grin.

For a second, I saw it. The thing Eleanor had talked about. The shadow of his father and grandfather and great-uncle. Dark and deep and waiting.

But then he laughed. A loud, happy sound. And it was gone.

He was just a baby.

Innocent.

Perfect.

He would not be like them.

Not with Lily as his mother. Not with Mark. Not with me. We would make sure of it.

The party ended at 4:00.

I drove home.

When I turned onto my street, I saw the car.

Parked across from my house.

Old. Dark blue. Tinted windows.

The same car the PI had driven a year before.

My heart stopped.

Daniel was supposed to be in prison. For another three years at least.

I parked in the driveway. Left the engine running. Kept my phone in my hand. 911 dialed. Finger on the call button.

The car door opened.

A man got out.

Not Daniel.

Older. Late fifties. Gray hair. Glasses. Wore a suit that was too expensive for this neighborhood.

He walked toward me. Hands up. Showing he was unarmed.

“Ms. Carter?” he called. “Don’t be alarmed. My name is Arthur Pritchard. I’m an attorney. I represent Daniel Carter. I’d like to talk to you. Five minutes. That’s all.”

I did not get out of the car.

Rolled the window down an inch.

“Daniel is in prison. What could you possibly want?”

“Daniel is being released tomorrow,” he said.

The world tilted.

“What?”

“Good behavior,” Pritchard said. “Time served awaiting trial plus good time credit. He’s served fourteen months. The board granted him early release. He’ll be out at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.”

Four years had become fourteen months.

Of course it had.

Good behavior. In a world where bad men always seemed to get second chances and women like me got told we should have been more patient.

“Why are you here?” I asked. My voice was cold.

“Daniel wants to make amends,” Pritchard said. “He’s had a lot of time to think. To read. To change. He’s found God in prison. Got his GED. Completed anger management. Addiction counseling. All of it. He’s a different man, Ms. Carter. He wants to apologize. In person. He wants to be part of his son’s life. He’s willing to do whatever it takes. Supervised visits. Child support. Anything.”

I laughed. A sharp, bitter sound.

“Tell him to go to hell.”

Pritchard did not flinch.

“He knew you’d say that. That’s why he asked me to give you this.”

He handed an envelope through the window.

I took it. Did not open it.

“Tell him,” I said. “That if he comes within one thousand feet of me. Or my house. Or Lily. Or William. I will have him back in jail before the sun sets. And next time, he won’t get out early. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Pritchard said. “But I would still read the letter. He wrote it himself. Every word.”

He walked back to his car. Drove away.

I sat in the driveway for twenty minutes.

Staring at the envelope.

Finally, I opened it.

Daniel’s handwriting. Messy. Shaky. Different from the journal.

Clara,

I know you hate me. You have every right. I did things to you that no man should ever do to anyone. I can never make them right. I can never give you back the six years I stole. But I have to try.

Prison changed me. I had a lot of time to think. About Dad. About Gloria. About Lily. About William. About you. I was so angry my whole life. Angry at Gloria for not being my real mom. Angry at my real mom for giving me away. Angry at the world for not giving me everything I thought I deserved. And I took it all out on you. Because you were the only person who ever loved me. The only person who was ever nice to me. And I destroyed you for it.

I’m not asking for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. I’m not asking for your money. Or your friendship. Or anything from you.

I’m only asking for one thing.

Let me be a father to my son.

I know I don’t deserve that either. But he deserves to know me. The good parts and the bad. He deserves to know where he comes from. So he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. So he doesn’t grow up angry and empty like I did.

I’ll do supervised visits. At a center. With a social worker there the whole time. I’ll pay child support. Every penny. I got a job working construction with my uncle upstate. I start next week. I’ll send every check directly to Lily. No excuses. No missed payments. Ever.

If you say no, I’ll respect it. I’ll walk away. Never bother any of you again. I just had to ask.

I’m sorry, Clara. For everything.

Daniel.

I read it twice.

Then I tore it into tiny pieces. Threw them in the trash can by the front door.

I called Lily.

“Daniel is getting out tomorrow,” I said.

She went quiet.

“Early release. Good behavior. His lawyer came to see me. Said Daniel wants to be part of William’s life. Supervised visits. Child support. The whole thing.”

Lily breathed out slowly.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think,” I said, “that people don’t change. Not really. Not in fourteen months. Not when they’ve spent their whole lives being exactly who they are. He might be calmer now. Quieter. He might even believe his own lies about God and redemption. But the core of him? The part that takes. That lies. That hurts people to get what he wants? That never goes away.”

I paused.

“But it’s not my decision. It’s yours. And William’s. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. If you want to let him see the baby, I’ll be there for every visit. If you want to fight him in court, I’ll pay for the best lawyer in the state. Whatever you need.”

Lily was quiet for a long time.

“I don’t want him near William,” she said finally. “Not now. Not ever. I saw what he did to you. I read the journal. I heard the judge. I don’t want that anywhere near my son. I don’t want William to ever become like him.”

“Then we fight,” I said.

“Okay.”

“Get some sleep,” I said. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

I hung up.

Walked into the house.

Locked the door.

Set the alarm.

Checked the cameras.

All secure.

I went upstairs.

Got ready for bed.

As I turned off the light, I looked out the window.