Chapter 10 - The Glass Partition
The Ohio Reformatory for Women in Marysville was a stark, depressing complex surrounded by razor wire and high concrete walls. The heavy iron doors echoed with a dull, sickening clang as I was escorted through security by a female corrections officer.
The visitor’s room was cold and quiet. A thick sheet of plexiglass separated the booths, with small metal grates for voice transmission.
I sat down on the hard plastic chair and waited.
Five minutes later, a heavy metal door at the far side of the room opened. A guard led a woman in an oversized gray prison jumpsuit toward the booth.
I almost didn't recognize her.
The arrogant, sharp-tongued Lydia Vance who had once ruled her suburban home with an iron fist was completely gone. In her place was a frail, stooped woman with thin gray hair, sunken cheeks, and yellowed, watery eyes. She moved slowly, using a metal walker, her breath coming in raspy, labored gasps.
She sat down heavily on the stool opposite me and slowly lifted her trembling hands to grab the telephone receiver hanging beside the glass.
I picked up my receiver and held it to my ear.
"Joanna..." Lydia’s voice came through the earpiece, thin and gravelly, lacking any of its old bite. "You came. God bless you... you came."
"I came alone, Lydia," I said, my voice completely calm, devoid of anger or pity. "Louisa is not coming. She will never come here."
Lydia’s face fell, fresh tears brimming in her hollow eyes. "Please, Joanna... I am an old woman. I am dying in here. Every night when the lights go out, all I hear are her screams in that kitchen... I can't sleep, Joanna. The guilt is eating me alive."
"You didn't feel guilt when you held her down," I reminded her coldly. "You didn't feel guilt when you called her a thief and threw us out into the freezing air. You felt proud. You felt powerful."
"I was wrong!" Lydia wept, pressing her frail, liver-spotted hand against the cold plexiglass. "I was blind! Walter... Walter pushed me, Heather lied to me, Elmer kept taking the money... I was caught in a web of hatred, Joanna! I didn't see what I was becoming!"
I looked at her through the glass, listening to her desperate attempt to rewrite history—still blaming her husband, her daughter, and her son for the cruelty that lived in her own heart.
"You were not blind, Lydia," I said softly, leaning closer to the glass metal grate. "You were simply cruel. You spent your whole life using fear and control to keep your family under your thumb. And when I refused to be broken by you, you tried to break my child instead."
"I am sorry," she sobbed, her body trembling under the heavy jumpsuit. "Please... just tell me she’s okay. Tell me she doesn't hate me."
"She doesn't hate you, Lydia," I said.
A small flicker of hope lit up in Lydia’s dim eyes. "She doesn't?"
"She doesn't even know who you are," I delivered the truth, gentle yet absolute. "To Louisa, you are just a bad dream that went away a long time ago. She has a mother who loves her, a home where she is safe, and a future that is bright and untainted by your bitterness. You tried to mark her with shame, Lydia. But all you did was mark yourself."
Lydia covered her face with her trembling hands, her frail shoulders shaking with violent, silent sobs.
I slowly set the telephone receiver back onto its metal hook.
May you like
I stood up, adjusted my coat, and turned my back on the glass partition.
As I walked down the long, echoing hallway toward the heavy steel exit doors, I felt no lingering pain, no bitterness, and no regret. The rain had cleared outside, and bright afternoon sunlight was breaking through the clouds, illuminating the road ahead.
