Chapter 9 - The Final Encounter
A year later.
The high-security visitor center at Pelican Bay State Penitentiary was cold, gray, and smelled heavily of industrial bleach and old floor wax.
I sat behind the thick, bulletproof glass panel, wearing an elegant navy trench coat, my hands folded calmly in my lap.
On the other side of the glass, the heavy steel door opened, and a guard escorted a man out into the booth.
It was Julian.
He wore a bright orange inmate jumpsuit. His head was shaved, his posture hunched, his face thin, haggard, and aged by ten years. His hands were bound together by heavy steel wrist cuffs attached to a chain around his waist.
He sat down on the stool, picking up the black telephone receiver with shaking hands.
I picked up my receiver and placed it against my ear.
“Sarah...” Julian whispered, his voice raspy, broken, and hollow. “You... you actually came.”
“I came to bring you one final document, Julian,” I said softly, my voice completely devoid of hatred or anger.
I pressed a single piece of white paper against the bulletproof glass.
It was a certified copy of the Superior Court decree: FINAL TERMINATION OF PARENTAL RIGHTS AND LEGAL NAME CHANGE.
“My daughters’ names are Lily Montgomery and Maya Montgomery,” I told him clearly. “They carry no trace of your family name. Their birth certificates have been permanently amended by the State of California.”
Julian stared at the paper, tears streaming down his gaunt cheeks, hitting the steel counter.
“Sarah... please,” he choked out, pressing his trembling forehead against the glass. “Let me see a picture of them... just one photo... please, Sarah... I’m their father...”
I looked at him through the glass.
I remembered the night in Room 412. I remembered the vinyl belt digging into my belly, the red marks across my skin, Eleanor hiding my call button, and Chloe filming my torn gown.
I remembered the exact tone of his voice when he had looked at Nurse Reed and said: “We didn't need her permission.”
I leaned closer to the glass, my voice calm, steady, and razor-sharp.
“You don't get to see them, Julian,” I whispered into the receiver. “Because to see my daughters... you would need my permission.”
I hung up the phone.
May you like
Julian slammed his cuffed hands against the glass, screaming silently, his face contorted in agony as two guards grabbed his arms and dragged him backward through the heavy steel door.
I stood up, adjusted my coat, and walked out of the prison into the bright, beautiful California sunshine.
