Chapter 9 - VISITING THE PAST
One month later.
The state correctional facility sat in a bleak, gray landscape two hours north of the city. High concrete walls, barbed wire, and heavy security gates replaced the luxury of Manhattan’s high-rises.
I walked into the visitor center wearing a simple black coat. I didn't bring Victoria. This wasn't a place for her.
I sat down at one of the small metal tables in the visitation room. A minute later, the heavy reinforced door opened, and a guard escorted Caleb into the room.
He looked hollow. He wore a bright orange prison jumpsuit. His hair was shaved short, his face was thin and pale, and he walked with a slight limp from his injured leg. The arrogant, slick CEO who had whispered cruel threats in my ear at my father’s funeral was completely gone.
He sat down opposite me, looking at my face through the clear acrylic barrier. He didn't look angry anymore. He just looked defeated.
“You came,” Caleb said, his voice quiet and dry through the small speaker mesh.
“I came to bring you these,” I said, sliding a envelope under the partition.
Caleb opened it with trembling fingers. Inside were the final divorce papers, stamped and executed by the state supreme court.
“It’s over, Caleb,” I said. “Legally, financially, and permanently.”
Caleb stared at the divorce decree for a long moment, then let out a bitter, quiet laugh. “You know... when I walked into that chapel four months ago, I genuinely believed you were weak, Eleanor. I thought Arthur had sheltered you so much that you’d collapse the second he died.”
“I know what you thought, Caleb,” I replied softly. “You confused my patience for weakness. You confused my love for stupidity.”
Caleb looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting mine. “Can I... can I see a picture of her? Of Victoria?”
I looked at him for a long, silent moment.
Part of me wanted to hurt him. Part of me wanted to tell him that he didn't deserve to even hear her name after what he had done in that nursery.
But looking at him now—broken, ruined, facing two decades behind bars—I realized that harboring hatred for him was a prison of its own. And I was done being a prisoner.
I pulled a small color photograph from my coat pocket and placed it against the glass.
It showed Victoria sleeping in her white crib at the estate, wrapped in the pink blanket, bathed in warm morning sunlight.
Caleb stared at the photo. A single tear rolled down his thin cheek, leaving a clean track through the dirt on his skin. He reached out a hand, pressing his thumb against the glass over her tiny face.
“She looks like you,” Caleb whispered, his voice cracking.
“She looks like a Vance,” I corrected gently. “And she is going to grow up knowing that her family is built on truth, strength, and integrity.”
I picked up the photo and put it back into my pocket. I stood up, buttoning my black coat.
“Goodbye, Caleb,” I said. “I hope you find peace while you’re in here.”
May you like
I turned and walked toward the exit doors without looking back. Behind me, I heard Caleb sob softly into his hands, but I didn't stop.
The door opened into the bright afternoon sunlight, and I stepped out into the crisp autumn air.
