Chapter 9 - The Final Encounter
A year after the ER incident, I received an official letter from the Federal Correctional Institution in Waseca, Minnesota.
Eleanor had requested a visitation. Under federal rules, I had the option to reject it instantly, but after discussing it with my therapist, I decided to go. Not because I owed her anything, but because I wanted to close the final chapter of my past on my own terms.
The visitation room was cold, stark, and quiet, separated by thick safety glass.
When Eleanor was led in by two guards, I barely recognized her. She wore a orange jumpsuit, her hair was completely white, and her face was lined with deep wrinkles.
She sat down across from me, picking up the black telephone receiver with trembling hands.
I picked up my receiver and placed it to my ear.
"Harper..." Eleanor rasped, her voice thin and hollow through the speaker. "You... you actually came."
"I did," I said, my voice calm, steady, and devoid of anger.
"I... I wanted to ask you for help," Eleanor stammered, her eyes darting around the sterile room. "The prison library... they won't give me my medication on time. The food is terrible. The guards are cruel. Harper, please... you have security contacts! You have influence now! Can't you write a letter to the warden? Can't you transfer me to a minimum-security facility?"
I sat quietly, listening to her plea.
Even after a year in federal custody, after losing her freedom, her reputation, and her house, her first thought was still how I could serve her. She hadn't asked how my health was. She hadn't asked how my recovery went. She hadn't even mentioned Chloe.
"No, Eleanor," I said softly.
Eleanor blinked, as if she couldn't process the word. "What?"
"I won't write a letter," I said, looking into her eyes without a trace of hesitation. "You are where you belong. You spent twenty-four years treating me like an unpaid servant and an inconvenience. You tried to let me die on a hospital floor so your other daughter could have a lavish party."
"I... I was stressed!" Eleanor pleaded, pressing her hands against the glass. "I made a mistake!"
"It wasn't a mistake," I corrected her coldly. "It was a choice. And now, you are living with the consequences of that choice."
I slowly stood up from the vinyl chair, smoothing down the front of my tailored blazer.
May you like
"This is the last time you will ever see me, Eleanor," I said. "Don't send any more letters. Don't request any more visits. As far as I'm concerned, my mother died the morning she told the doctor to cancel my CT scan."
I hung up the receiver, turned my back on her panicked tapping against the glass, and walked out through the heavy steel doors into the bright, warm afternoon sun.
