Chapter 10 - CHARLOTTE WALKED INTO THE PRISON VISITING ROOM WITHOUT ME
Charlotte was twelve when she asked to see Nathan.
I knew the day would come.
Still hated it.
We were eating breakfast.
She put down her spoon.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I want to meet Dad.”
My entire body tightened.
“You have met him.”
“As a baby.”
Fair.
Nathan had remained incarcerated throughout her childhood.
Letters came through a controlled process.
For years, Dr. Hayes and I kept them.
Later, Charlotte read selected ones.
At ten, she asked more questions.
At eleven, she learned the full basic truth.
Not graphic.
Not every detail.
Enough.
Dad planned to have you born safely, but he also planned for me to die because he wanted money and control.
She cried for two days.
Then refused to mention him for six months.
Now—
“I want to see him.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because I have questions.”
“You can write.”
“I want to see his face when he answers.”
That sounded like me.
Terrifying.
“Charlie.”
“I’m not five.”
“I know.”
“You said when I was old enough, I could decide.”
I had.
Damn my commitment to consistency.
“We talk to Dr. Hayes.”
“Fine.”
“Lucas.”
“Why?”
“Security.”
“He’s old.”
Lucas was forty-eight.
I almost smiled.
“Do not tell him that.”
“I already have.”
Of course.
We planned carefully.
Nathan’s facility.
Supervised visit.
No private contact.
I would go.
Charlotte surprised me.
“I want to go in alone.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“No.”
“I need him to talk to me, not look at you.”
My stomach dropped.
She was right.
I hated it.
Dr. Hayes said—
“Can you tolerate waiting outside if security is appropriate?”
“No.”
She stared.
“Can you do it anyway?”
I hated professionals.
The day came.
James drove us.
Not because I couldn’t.
Because he offered.
At the facility, he stayed outside.
No intrusion.
Lucas came too.
Charlotte wore jeans.
Red sweater.
Nathan hated red.
Apparently this family had traditions now.
Before the visiting room, she looked at me.
“You okay?”
I almost laughed.
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Good.”
She smiled slightly.
I hugged her.
“Remember, you can leave whenever you want.”
“I know.”
“You owe him nothing.”
“I know.”
“You can ask anything.”
“I know.”
“And—”
“Mom.”
I stopped.
“I know.”
She entered.
The door closed.
I sat outside.
Longest forty-seven minutes of my life.
When Charlotte returned, her face was pale.
But dry.
I stood.
“Charlie.”
“Not here.”
Good.
We left.
James drove us to a park.
Charlotte and I walked alone.
For ten minutes, silence.
Then—
“He cried.”
I nodded.
“He said you were the best thing he ever had.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you say?”
“That people don’t try to kill the best thing they ever had.”
I closed my eyes.
“Charlie.”
“What?”
“That’s…”
I stopped.
Her truth.
Not mine to edit.
“What did he say?”
“That he knows.”
We walked.
“He said he loved me before I was born.”
“I believe that.”
She looked at me.
“I asked him why he wanted you dead.”
My heart stopped.
“What did he say?”
“That he was greedy.”
“That he was scared you would divorce him.”
“That Rachel was pregnant.”
“That he wanted control.”
Charlie kicked a rock.
“Those are stupid reasons.”
“Yes.”
“None are reasons.”
“No.”
She began crying.
I put my arm around her.
“He said he thinks about the hospital every day.”
I swallowed.
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you forgive him?”
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“You?”
“No.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Then—
“I might someday.”
My chest tightened.
“That’s yours.”
“What?”
“Forgiveness.”
I said.
“Not mine.”
“Not Lucas’s.”
“Not James’s.”
“Yours.”
Charlotte cried harder.
“I hate that I look like him.”
There it was.
The wound I had feared.
I turned her toward me.
“You have his eyes.”
“Yes.”
“His left eyebrow.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“You do.”
“That’s worse.”
I almost smiled.
“You also have Grandma Elizabeth’s chin.”
“Your laugh sometimes.”
“Your own opinions constantly.”
She laughed through tears.
“You are not a museum of other people.”
I told her.
“You’re Charlotte.”
Her face softened.
“I asked him about Eli.”
My chest tightened again.
“What?”
“He said he’s glad we know each other.”
Eli and Charlotte had grown close.
Not sibling-household close.
But birthdays.
Summer outings.
Calls.
They knew.
Rachel and I had become something almost like family acquaintances.
Peaceful.
“He asked me to tell Eli he’s sorry.”
I sighed.
“And?”
“I told him to write his own letter.”
I laughed.
Could not help it.
Charlotte smiled.
“I said I’m not his mailman.”
“That is rude.”
“You’re proud.”
“A little.”
That evening, Rachel called.
Eli wanted to know how the visit went.
I handed the phone to Charlotte.
She spoke to her brother.
Private.
I stood in the kitchen with James.
He made pasta.
“Hard day?”
“Yes.”
“Anything you need?”
“No.”
He nodded.
Then continued cooking.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“I love you.”
He froze slightly.
We had said it before.
Still mattered.
“I love you too.”
I watched him stir sauce.
No murder plot.
No fortune.
No strategic marriage.
No promise of perfection.
Just a man making dinner while my daughter processed seeing her incarcerated father.
Life had become deeply ordinary.
May you like
That was not small.
After everything, ordinary was enormous.
