Chapter 41 - The Letter from Marion
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The heavy, oppressive heat of August had settled over the city, making the air feel thick and sluggish. I was standing at the kitchen counter, lazily sorting through the daily stack of mail. There were a few medical journals, a wedding magazine Sophie had enthusiastically ordered for me, and a utility bill.
Then, my hand froze completely.
Nestled at the very bottom of the pile was a stark white, standard-issue envelope. The paper was cheap and thin. The return address printed in block letters in the top left corner made the blood in my veins run completely cold for a fraction of a second.
Marion United States Penitentiary.
I stared at the neatly handwritten scrawl bearing my name. It was Daniel’s handwriting. The elegant, sharp cursive that had once signed checks, forged fraudulent documents, and ultimately tried to sign away my absolute freedom.
I didn't touch it. I simply stared at it resting on the marble counter, waiting for the familiar, suffocating wave of panic to wash over me. I waited for the terrifying ghost of Gate 42 to rise up and completely choke the air from my lungs.
But as the seconds ticked by, a profound realization washed over me. I felt absolutely nothing. There was no terror. There was no overwhelming anxiety. There was only a fleeting sense of pathetic pity for a man who was desperately trying to reach out from a cold concrete cell.
Marcus walked through the front door, loosening his tie after a long day at the office. He took one look at my face, then followed my gaze down to the envelope on the counter.
"Is that what I think it is?" Marcus asked, his voice instantly dropping into a low, fiercely protective register.
"It's from Daniel," I confirmed quietly.
May you like
"You don't have to open it, Rachel. I can throw it straight into the shredder right now," Marcus offered, stepping closer to shield me.
"No," I said, picking the envelope up between two fingers. "The shredder is too good for this."
