Chapter 12: The Cumberland Visitor
The visitor's room at the Federal Correctional Institution in Cumberland smelled of industrial floor wax and old plastic chairs.
Julian Vance sat behind the plexiglass partition, wearing a plain orange jumpsuit with his inmate number printed across his chest. His hair was shaved to the skin, his smooth, handsome face was lined with deep wrinkles of stress, and his hands were calloused from warehouse labor.
The phone on his side rang. He grabbed it frantically as I sat down on the other side of the glass. I was wearing a simple trench coat, my hair loose, my face free of makeup. I didn't need decorations to face him anymore.
"Clara..." Julian choked out, his voice cracking against the receiver. "Clara, please. You have to talk to the parole board. They just denied my early release review because of the Sterling Group’s ongoing civil monitoring. I’ve been here for four years, Clara. I’m dying in here."
I looked at the man who had once leaned over an oak table and whispered that I was going back to nothing.
"The monitoring is automated, Julian," I said, my voice completely flat, devoid of any anger. "The Sterling Group doesn't manage your sentence. The law does. You committed forty-two counts of systemic financial fraud. You have eight years remaining."
"I was your husband!" he yelled, slamming his hand against the glass. The security guard behind him immediately took a step forward, his hand resting on his baton. Julian lowered his voice, his eyes pleading. "Think about Arthur, Clara. He needs a father. When he grows up, what are you going to tell him about me?!"
I looked at his desperate face, a faint, beautiful smile touching my lips—the exact same smile I had held back four years ago in Judge Carter's courtroom.
May you like
"I’ll tell him the truth, Julian," I whispered through the phone. "I’ll tell him that his father was a lesson in why we always check the math. And then I’ll show him his name on the building."
I hung up the receiver, standing up and walking out of the visiting room without looking back a single time. He was a ghost in a orange jumpsuit, and I was a mother walking back into the sun.
