Chapter 18 - The Letter That Remained Unopened
A week after the dedication ceremony, a heavy gray envelope arrived in the farmhouse mail slot. It bore no return address, only a standard correctional facility barcode stamped across the top left corner, and my name written in cramped, jagged handwriting that I recognized instantly.
Marcus.
I sat at the kitchen table, the very same table where he had struck my side and shattered my rib six months ago, holding the unopened envelope between my fingers.
The sun poured through the spotless kitchen window, casting a warm golden glow across the polished wood. The bowl of apples sat on the counter—fresh, bright red, and completely undisturbed.
Harrison Vance, who happened to be dropping off the quarterly foundation audit papers, noticed the envelope on the table and stopped in his tracks.
“Do you want me to open that for you, Eleanor?” Harrison asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the correctional facility stamp. “Or toss it straight into the woodstove unread?”
I stared at the letter for a long moment, listening to the grandfather clock ticking softly in the hallway.
“Did he apologize?” I asked.
“Federal censors scanned the contents before dispatch,” Harrison replied smoothly. “There’s no apology, Eleanor. It’s a four-page diatribe about how unfair the trial was, how Petrov set him up, how the judge ruined his career, and… a demand that you hire a new legal team to appeal his sentence using the foundation’s reserve funds.”
A quiet, bitter smile touched the corners of my mouth. Even behind concrete walls and razor wire, Marcus was still Marcus—demanding, unaccountable, and entirely incapable of remorse.
I picked up the unopened envelope, walked over to the old woodstove where a gentle fire was crackling, and dropped it directly into the glowing embers.
Harrison watched silently as the paper curled, blackened, and turned to gray ash in seconds.
May you like
“Aren't you even a little curious what he said?” Harrison asked softly.
“Not anymore, Harrison,” I said, walking back to the table and picking up my coffee cup. “Some books aren't worth reading to the final page because you already know how the chapter ends.”
