Chapter 38 - A Letter from the Grave
The victory with Eleanor Vance brought a wave of national attention to The Phoenix Initiative. We were inundated with requests for help, media inquiries, and massive philanthropic donations. I threw myself into the work, finding profound joy in dismantling the financial cages of abusers across the country.
But trauma has a way of reminding you that it is never truly gone.
Six months after the Vance case concluded, I received an official letter from the Illinois Department of Corrections. I was sitting at my desk, sipping coffee, when I recognized the harsh, bureaucratic stamp on the envelope.
My heart gave a brief, phantom flutter, but I quickly suppressed it. I sliced the envelope open with a silver letter opener.
It was a notification from the prison's medical warden.
Dear Ms. Lawson, This letter is to inform you that inmate Evelyn Lawson has been transferred to the maximum-security palliative care ward. She has been diagnosed with late-stage, aggressively metastasized ovarian cancer. Medical staff estimates she has less than two weeks to live. As her registered next of kin, you are permitted a final visitation, should you choose to accept.
I stared at the paper. The words seemed entirely surreal.
Evelyn Lawson, the woman who had plotted to let me die of kidney failure so she could steal my life insurance, was now dying herself. The irony was heavy, suffocating, and perfectly poetic.
Chloe walked into my office a moment later, stopping when she saw the blank expression on my face. "Maya? What is it?"
I slid the letter across the desk. Chloe read it, her jaw tightening.
"She has two weeks," Chloe said softly. "Are you going to go?"
I looked out the window at the bustling city below. I thought I had buried my mother years ago in that courtroom. I thought she was a ghost. But knowing she was actually, physically breathing her last breaths in a concrete room brought a strange, complex wave of emotion.
May you like
It wasn't sadness. It wasn't forgiveness. It was a fierce, burning need for absolute closure.
"I have to go," I said, my voice steady. "I have to look her in the eye one last time, so she knows exactly who won."
