Chapter 9 - The Final Confrontation
One month later, I visited the county correctional facility for a scheduled meeting requested by Bradley’s defense counsel.
I sat behind the thick safety glass in the visitor room. Moments later, Bradley was led into the opposite cubicle by a correctional officer.
He looked unrecognizable. The tailored tuxedos and styled hair were gone. He wore a bright orange jumpsuit, his hair buzzed short, his face hollowed out by fear and isolation.
He picked up the phone receiver on his side. I picked up mine.
“Claire,” he rasped, his voice trembling through the small speaker. “Please. You have to talk to the DA. They won't let my mother out on medical bail. Her health is failing in here.”
“Your mother’s health is the responsibility of the state department of corrections, Bradley,” I said coolly.
“We lost everything!” Bradley cried, tears welling in his red-rimmed eyes. “The house is gone! The company is gone! My career as an architect is ruined! Isn't that enough for you? Why are you doing this?”
I looked at the young man who had stood by while his mother choked my post-partum daughter.
“I didn't do this to you, Bradley,” I said softly. “You did this to yourself the moment you decided that a mother’s love for her child was something you could manipulate, abuse, and steal for money.”
“I was wrong,” he sobbed, pressing his forehead against the glass divider. “I’m sorry, Claire. Please tell Lily I’m sorry.”
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“Lily doesn't care about your apology, Bradley,” I said, standing up from my metal chair. “She’s busy raising your daughter in a home filled with love, respect, and safety—things you and your mother will never understand.”
I set the phone receiver back onto its hook, turned my back on his hysterical banging against the glass, and walked out into the bright afternoon sunlight.
