Chapter 6 - The Visitation RoomBefore Ethan was transferred to the state penitentiary in Dixon to begin serving his seven-year sentence, I made one final visit to the Cook County central detention facility.
The visitation room was sterile, cold, smelling of cheap floor cleaner and old paper.
I sat down on the stool behind the thick glass partition, wearing a comfortable cashmere sweater, waiting quietly.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and Ethan was led inside by two armed guards.
He wore an oversized orange jumpsuit, his wrists handcuffed to a steel chain around his waist. He had lost weight, his face gaunt, his dark hair shaved down to the scalp according to facility rules. In three months, the suave, handsome president of Hayes Meridian had completely vanished, replaced by a hollowed-out inmate staring blankly through the glass.
He picked up the black plastic telephone receiver with trembling hands.
I picked up my receiver, holding it to my ear.
“Claire…” Ethan rasped, his voice barely a whisper through the static speaker. He looked at my face, taking in my healthy color, my serene expression, and my restored confidence. “You came.”
“I came to bring you the final court order, Ethan,” I said calmly, holding the divorce decree against the glass partition. “The marriage is over. My name is restored.”
Ethan stared at the document, tears welling in his bloodshot eyes, dripping down his hollow cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, Claire,” Ethan sobbed, his shoulders shaking against the chain. “I swear to God, every single night in this cell, I think about that kitchen. I think about the day I told you to stay home from the gala. I was a fool, Claire. A arrogant, blind fool who threw away the only woman who ever truly cared about him.”
I looked at him through the glass, feeling no bitterness, no anger, and no lingering sadness. He was simply a stranger who had paid the ultimate price for his own greed.
“You didn't just throw me away, Ethan,” I corrected softly. “You tried to destroy the family that built you. You wanted to be a self-made titan, but you forgot that a house built on stolen stones will always collapse on the man inside it.”
Ethan pressed his forehead against the cold glass, weeping quietly into the receiver. “What am I going to do, Claire? Seven years… I have nothing left. No money, no career, no friends…”
“You’re going to serve your time, Ethan,” I answered quietly. “And when you get out, you can start over. In a cheap suit. Just like you started thirteen years ago.”
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I set the telephone receiver back on its cradle, stood up from the stool, and turned my back on him.
Ethan called my name through the glass, his voice Pathetic and echoing off the concrete walls, but I didn't look back. I walked out of the visitation room and stepped into the crisp, clean winter air outside.
