Chapter 6 - The Jailhouse Visit
The visitor room at the county correctional facility was cold, sterile, and smelled faintly of floor bleach and industrial detergent. Reinforced glass panels separated the rows of metal cubicles, each equipped with a black plastic telephone receiver.
I sat down on the wooden stool, smoothing the skirt of my navy-blue dress.
A heavy steel door opened at the far end of the room. A corrections officer led Tyler inside. He was wearing an oversized orange jumpsuit, his hair unwashed and messy, his wrists bound in heavy steel handcuffs connected to a waist chain.
The arrogant, polished young man who had bragged about luxury wedding venues was completely gone. In his place was a pale, desperate boy whose posture had completely collapsed.
He sat down on the stool across from me, lifted the heavy plastic receiver with his bound hands, and pressed it against his ear.
I lifted my receiver.
"Mom," Tyler pleaded, his voice cracking through the crackling speaker wire. "Mom, please... you have to get me out of here. Please. It's terrible in here. I can't sleep, the food is inedible, and the guys in my cell block are dangerous!"
I looked at him silently, observing the lines of fear on his face.
"Did you hear me, Mom?" he begged, leaning close against the glass, leaving a smudge of grease against the surface. "You have to tell the district attorney it was all a misunderstanding! Tell them you gave me permission to use the escrow funds! If you sign the affidavit, they'll drop the grand larceny charges down to a probation warning!"
"I came here to drop off your personal belongings," I said quietly, my voice calm, steady, and entirely devoid of anger. "Arthur and I packed the rest of your clothes from your apartment. They are in boxes at Arthur's storage locker. You can pick them up when your sentence is complete."
Tyler’s face contorted into shock, as if he couldn't process what he was hearing. "When my sentence is complete?! Mom, they're talking about four to six years in state prison! Do you want your only son to go to prison?!"
"You didn't care where I went, Tyler," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "When you canceled my surgical appointments three times, where did you think I was going to end up? Did you think I was going to magically recover while you spent my medical fund on champagne and venue deposits?"
Tyler flinched, looking down at his handcuffed wrists. "I... I was going to pay it back! I was investing in a high-yield crypto trading account! I thought I could double the money, pay for the wedding, and then book you a top-tier private surgeon in Europe! I was doing it for all of us!"
"Stop lying, Tyler," I interrupted, my tone sharp as a razor. "You don't even believe that lie yourself. You saw me struggling to walk up the stairs in my own house. You watched me sit in the chair every evening, gasping for breath from fluid buildup, and you patted my hand and told me to wait until Monday."
"I panicked!" Tyler shouted into the receiver, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. "Chloe's family has so much money, Mom! Her father is a judge, her mother owns half the commercial real estate downtown! I felt so small standing next to them! I just wanted to feel like I belonged in their world!"
"You sacrificed your mother's life to buy a seat at a table that didn't even respect you," I said softly.
Tyler pressed his forehead against the glass panel, sobbing quietly. "Mom... please. I'm your son. You raised me. You loved me. Don't abandon me in this dark place."
"Loving you doesn't mean allowing you to destroy me, Tyler," I said, my heart aching with a profound, quiet sorrow. "I will not lie for you under oath. I will not sign a false affidavit. You are going to stand trial, you are going to take responsibility for what you did, and you are going to pay back every single cent you stole from my husband's legacy."
"Mom—!"
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"Goodbye, Tyler," I whispered.
I set the black receiver back onto its wall cradle, stood up from the wooden stool, and turned my back on my son, walking out into the bright afternoon sunlight.
