Chapter 7 - BEHIND BARS
The Franklin County Detention Center was a labyrinth of gray concrete, fluorescent lights, and heavy steel doors that slammed shut with a sickening metallic echo.
In the sterile, glass-partitioned visitation room, Richard Hale sat in a faded orange jumpsuit, his hair uncombed, his face gaunt and hollowed out by days of sleepless panic. When the door opened and I walked in—carrying little Daniel swaddled in a blue blanket—Richard bolted upright, pressing his face against the scratched Plexiglass.
“Emily!” he rasped, his voice desperate. “Thank God. You have to drop the charges. You have to tell them it was all a misunderstanding! Kelsey is gone, the house is in foreclosure—they’re taking everything, Emily! I’m your father!”
I stopped on the other side of the glass. I didn't sit down. I stood tall, holding my newborn son against my chest, looking at the man who had dragged me by my hair while I was eight months pregnant.
“You stopped being my father the moment you laid hands on me,” I said, my voice echoing through the intercom speaker between us.
Richard slammed his fist against the glass. “You bitch! I raised you! Without me, you’re nothing!”
“Without you, I am finally free,” I replied calmly. “You thought you could walk into my house, throw me into the street, and steal what my husband built for his family. But you forgot one thing, Richard.”
His chest heaved as he glared at me through the glass. “What?”
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“The woman you threw out of the house wasn't weak,” I said softly. “She was just waiting for the right moment to lock the door behind you.”
I turned on my heel, ignoring his frantic, screaming curses as the guards stepped in to pin him back against the wall.
