Chapter 9 - A Letter from Rikers
(Approx. 1,500 words)
A year later.
Spring had returned to New York City. The trees in Central Park were in full, glorious bloom, casting soft pink and white petals across the walking paths near the reservoir.
I sat on a wooden bench under the warm morning sun, holding a warm cup of coffee in one hand and a thin, white envelope in the other.
The return address read: Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women, Unit 4-B.
It was the first letter Fallon had sent me since her sentencing eighteen months ago.
I stared at her jagged, unfamiliar handwriting on the front of the envelope for a long time before carefully sliding a finger under the paper seal to open it.
Dear Sloan,
I don't expect you to forgive me. If I were in your shoes, I would never want to see my name again.
It took being locked in a eight-by-ten concrete cell for a year for the noise to finally stop in my head. For years, I lived in a terrifying, relentless haze of needing more views, more likes, more validation, and more money. I let Sibil convince me that you were our enemy simply because you were smart, grounded, and refused to play our fake games.
I look at my hands every day in here, and I am sickened by what I did with them. I ruined your skin, I ruined our family, and I ruined my own life because I was a terrified, greedy coward who couldn't face the reality of my own failures.
I watch the television in the common room sometimes. Last week, I saw your interview on CNBC talking about the launch of the Regenesis Trauma Foundation. You looked so beautiful, Sloan. Not because of makeup or lighting, but because you look whole. You look like a woman who doesn't need anyone's permission to exist.
Sibil came to visit me last month. She lives in a small apartment up in Albany now. She works at a community center. She looks older, quiet, and tired. For the first time in our lives, she didn't talk about society parties or celebrity news. She talked about her garden.
I am taking college courses in prison library science now. I don't care about beauty, social media, or fame anymore. I just want to finish my sentence, pay my debt to society, and live a quiet life where I never hurt another human being.
You don't have to write back. You don't ever have to speak to me again. I just needed you to know that the monster you defeated in court is finally dead, and I am trying to become a human being.
Sincerely,
Fallon
I folded the letter carefully, slid it back into the white envelope, and set it gently in my leather tote bag.
I didn't feel a surge of triumph, nor did I feel bitterness. I simply felt a quiet, peaceful closure. The sister who had thrown acid in my face was gone, replaced by a stranger who was finally learning the hard lesson of accountability.
My phone chimed in my pocket.
May you like
It was a text from Maya: The contract for the new European clinical expansion just cleared legal! We're meeting Marcus for lunch at the Boathouse to celebrate. Hurry up!
I smiled, stood up from the wooden park bench, and adjusted my silk scarf in the warm spring breeze.
