Chapter 12 - Echoes from Upstate
Though my life in New York was a masterclass in renewal and peace, the legal system continued its slow, methodical march regarding the inmates at the state correctional facility.
One afternoon, while reviewing material swatches at my desk, my phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number from an upstate area code. I hesitated for a brief moment before sliding my thumb across the screen to answer.
"Sarah?" a weak, raspy voice whispered across the line.
It was Agnes. Her tone lacked every ounce of the fierce, unyielding arrogance that had once terrorized my existence. She sounded old, defeated, and profoundly hollowed out by the bleak reality of prison life.
"Agnes," I replied, my voice completely level, devoid of anger, triumph, or malice. "How did you get this number?"
"Leo... Leo gave it to me," she whimpered softly, a pathetic sound echoing from the prison intake phone bank. "Sarah, please... I’m begging you. The conditions here are unbearable. My health is failing, Chloe is crying every single night in her block, and we have no one left. If you could just call the prosecutor... tell them you'll accept a reduced sentence or community service petition... we’ve learned our lesson. Please show us mercy."
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, letting the words wash over me without leaving a single bruise.
"Mercy, Agnes?" I asked quietly. "Where was your mercy when you watched me collapse on the kitchen floor after losing a child? Where was your mercy when you threw a heavy cast-iron skillet at my head forty-eight hours after emergency surgery? You didn't care about mercy then. You only care about it now because you finally have to face the consequences of your own cruelty."
"Sarah, please—"
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"Goodbye, Agnes," I said firmly.
I pressed the red end-call button, blocking the number instantly. I didn't feel hatred. I felt absolute closure. The cycle was permanently broken.
