Chapter 9 - Shadows of the Past
Two years passed.
Life had settled into a beautiful, quiet rhythm. The memories of that freezing January night were no longer sharp, bleeding wounds; they had scabbed over into fading scars—reminders of a battle fought and decisively won.
Louisa was five years old now, enrolled in a prestigious private kindergarten near our home in Upper Arlington. She was thriving, a energetic girl with a passion for finger painting, riding her bicycle without training wheels, and asking endless questions about how the world worked. Her golden hair was long enough now to be gathered into tiny, bouncing pigtails tied with bright pink ribbons.
I had been promoted to Vice President of Financial Operations at my firm’s main Columbus headquarters. The grueling commutes to Cincinnati were a thing of the past. I owned a charming two-story craftsman house on a tree-lined street, paid for entirely through my own hard work and the restored family trust.
One rainy Tuesday afternoon, while I was sitting in my corner office reviewing quarterly earnings, my assistant knocked on the door.
"Joanna, there’s an official letter here for you from the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction," she said, setting a heavy manila envelope on my desk.
My heart gave a faint, involuntary flutter—a phantom echo of old anxieties. I took a deep breath, picked up the silver letter opener, and broke the seal.
Inside was a formal notification from the state parole board, along with a handwritten letter written on cheap, lined notepad paper.
The state notice informed me that Lydia Vance had applied for an early compassionate medical release due to failing health. Attached was a note written in shaky, barely legible handwriting:
Joanna,
The doctors tell me I don't have much time left. My heart is failing, and the arthritis in my hands has made it impossible to walk without help. Walter refuses to speak to me from his facility. Elmer will not answer my letters.
I am dying in this cold place, Joanna. I know you hate me, and I know I have no right to ask. But I beg you, bring Louisa to see me just once before I close my eyes. I want to see my granddaughter one last time to ask for her forgiveness. If there is any mercy in your heart, please.
Lydia
I held the piece of paper in my hand for a long time, staring at the shaky, spidery ink.
Four years ago, this letter would have sent me into a spiral of rage or guilt. But sitting in my quiet office, surrounded by the life I had built from the ashes of their destruction, I felt only a profound, hollow stillness.
I picked up my desk phone and dialed Naomi’s direct line.
"Naomi," I said when she answered. "Lydia is petitioning for early medical release. She wrote me a letter asking to see Louisa."
Naomi’s tone hardened instantly. "Absolutely not. You have a permanent civil protection order, and her parental rights—as well as her grand-parental access—were completely severed by Judge Sterling. She is using emotional manipulation from behind bars."
"I know," I said quietly. "I’m not going to bring Louisa. Louisa doesn't even remember her face anymore, and I will never allow that toxic shadow to touch my daughter’s life again."
"Are you going to respond to the parole board?" Naomi asked.
"Yes," I said firmly. "I’m going to write a statement to the board opposing her early release. But first... I’m going to go see her myself. Alone."
May you like
Naomi went quiet on the line for three seconds. "Are you sure you want to do that, Joanna? You don't owe that woman a single second of your life."
"I know I don't," I replied, looking out the window at the rain slipping down the glass. "I’m not going for her, Naomi. I’m going for me. I’m going to close the book forever."
