Chapter 19 - The Letter from Pollock
Three months later, a single piece of mail arrived in my locked post office box.
It was a standard white envelope stamped with the red ink of the Federal Bureau of Prisons: *INMATE CORRESPONDENCE – USP POLLOCK, LOUISIANA*.
The handwriting was shaky, hurried, and unmistakable: *Ryan Caldwell, Inmate #48892-044*.
I took the envelope home. I sat at my clean kitchen island, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows, smelling the fresh scent of blooming lilac bushes outside.
I didn't open it.
I didn't need to read his excuses. I didn't need to read his desperate pleas for forgiveness, his complaints about the prison food, his bitter recriminations, or his hollow promises that he had changed.
Ryan had spent his entire life taking up space in other people's minds, demanding their attention, their loyalty, and their silence.
He didn't own a single inch of my mind anymore.
I walked over to the kitchen sink, took a pair of shears from the drawer, and cut the unopened envelope clean down the middle.
I dropped both halves into the stainless steel trash can beneath the counter.
The lid clicked shut with a clean, definitive thud.
May you like
It was done.
***
