CHAPTER 8
Eleanor wrote Mia a letter from prison four years into her sentence.
Ray opened it first, to make sure there was nothing dangerous inside. It was six pages, handwritten, the penmanship shaky. She begged for forgiveness. She said she’d found God. She said she was a changed woman. She said Tyler was a good boy, it was all her fault, could Mia please help get him out early, could she please drop the rest of the civil judgment, could she please send her money for better food in the commissary.
She never once said she was sorry for beating her. She only said she was sorry she got caught.
Mia read it once, tore it up, and threw it in the trash.
“Let her rot,” she said, and meant it.
Tyler got out after six years, two off for good behavior. He showed up at Mia’s new house one afternoon, drunk, yelling over the fence that she’d ruined his life, that she owed him, that he’d make her pay.
Hope the dog charged the fence, barking so loud he stumbled backward. Mia opened the door, stood on the porch, and said, loud and clear:
“You ruined your own life the second you stood in that doorway and watched your mother beat me. If you ever come near me, my house, or my family again, I will have you back in prison before the sun goes down. Now get off my property before I call the police.”
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He left. She never saw him again.
We heard later he moved to another state, worked odd jobs, lived in a cheap motel. He never married. Never had kids. He was nothing. Just a sad, small reminder of what happens when you choose cruelty over kindness.
