Chapter 7 - THE APOLOGY THAT CAME TOO LATE
Two weeks later, Martha’s public defender contacted Nick with an urgent request: Martha was begging for a visitation meeting in county jail before her transfer to a federal detention facility.
At first, Nick refused. But after talking it through, we decided to go together. We needed to close this chapter of our lives once and for all.
The visitation room at the Cook County Jail was cold, sterile, and smelled of industrial floor cleaner. A heavy pane of bulletproof glass separated us from the stainless-steel chairs on the other side.
When Martha was led in by the guard, I barely recognized her.
Her skin was pale, gray shadows hung beneath her eyes, and her hair was limp and unwashed. The posture of high-society arrogance she had worn for decades had completely collapsed.
She picked up the plastic telephone receiver with trembling hands. Nick picked up his receiver on our side, putting it on speaker so I could hear.
“Nick... Clara...” Martha wept, her voice crackling through the small speaker. “Thank God you came. Please... you have to help me.”
“Help you with what, Martha?” Nick asked, his voice completely flat.
“The prosecutor... they’re charging me with federal fraud!” she sobbed, pressing her hands against the glass. “They’re going to send me to a federal prison in Illinois! I can’t survive in a place like that, Nick! I’m your mother!”
“You stopped being my mother the moment you embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars and assaulted my wife,” Nick said coldly.
Martha looked at me through the glass, her eyes wide with desperation. “Clara... please. I am so sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what I did to your hair! It was a mistake! I was stressed, I was out of my mind with panic about the money! Please tell the prosecutor you don't want to press assault charges! If you drop the assault charge, my lawyer can bargain down the fraud charges!”
I looked at the woman who had made my life miserable for five years. I felt no anger toward her anymore—only a profound sense of pity for someone who had destroyed her entire existence out of greed and pride.
“Martha,” I said clearly into the microphone. “You aren't sorry for what you did to me. You’re sorry that you got caught.”
“No! That’s not true!” she cried, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks.
“You called me poor, you called me worthless, and you tried to sell your son to the highest bidder to cover your illegal debts,” I continued. “I am not dropping any charges. You are going to face the consequences of every single choice you made.”
“Nick! Please!” Martha screamed, slamming her palms against the glass. “Don't let her do this to me! I raised you!”
Nick looked at her one last time.
“You didn't raise me, Martha,” Nick said softly. “My father raised me before he passed. You just used his name to live a life you couldn't afford. Goodbye, Martha.”
May you like
Nick set the phone back on the hook.
He took my hand, turned his back on his screaming mother, and walked out of the visitation room without looking back.
