Chapter 18 - The Letters from Prison
Two years passed in San Antonio.
Our life was full of warmth, sunshine, and laughter. We lived in a charming stone cottage with a sprawling backyard filled with oak trees and a custom playground I built for Leo.
Leo was now nearly three years old—a bright, energetic boy with dark curls, a ringing laugh, and a heart full of joy. He loved running through the grass, chasing our adopted rescue golden retriever, Scout.
One afternoon, while sorting through the mail, I found a letter stamped with the return address of the Federal Correctional Institution in Dublin, California.
It was from Celeste.
I sat on the porch swing, watching Leo play with Scout, and opened the envelope.
Dear Mara,
I don't expect you to forgive me. I know I don't deserve it.
I'm writing this because I've spent the last two years in therapy here, away from Mother's influence. For the first time in my life, I see how sick our family dynamic was. Mother conditioned me to believe I was entitled to everything, and that you were just a tool to be used.
When I tried to take Leo, I was broken. But that doesn't excuse the evil thing I did to you and your baby. I ruined my marriage to Greg, I lost my freedom, and worst of all, I lost my sister.
I heard about your promotion to Major. I saw a picture of Leo in a news clipping Greg sent me. He is beautiful, Mara. He looks just like you.
I don't ask for a reply. I just wanted to say... I am truly, deeply sorry.
Your sister,
Celeste
I read the letter twice. There was no anger left in my heart. Only pity for a woman who had allowed greed and vanity to destroy her life.
May you like
I folded the letter, placed it back in the envelope, and tucked it away in a memory box in my study. I didn't write back, but I felt a final sense of closure settle over my soul.
As for Beatrice, her letters from the supermax facility had ceased long ago, after I officially filed a legal order prohibiting prison mail delivery to my home. She would spend her remaining years surrounded by cold steel and concrete, forgotten by the world she had tried to control.
