You are a strong little girl, Isla. And I know you’ll keep being strong, even when it’s hard. I wish I could be there to watch you grow up, but I will be back before you know it.
I love you, kiddo.
Cole
She probably won’t remember the sound of my voice. And that kills me. I’ll miss her birthdays, her first day of school, all the little moments that make up a life. And by the time I’m out, she might be too grown up to even care.
I write the letter I want to pour the most of my heart into last. The letter to Kenna.
Kenna,
I don’t know where to even begin. There’s somuch I need to say to you, but I don’t know if I can get the words right. I’ve messed up so much in my life, and now…now I’m paying the price. And you’re paying the price too. I never wanted you to be part of this, never wanted you to be dragged into my mess.
I love you. God, I love you more than I can even put into words. I don’t think I ever really knew what love was until I met you. You’ve always been my light, the one person who could make everything feel okay. And now, I feel like I’ve ruined that. I’ve ruined us. I can’t go back and change what happened.
If I had known what this was going to cost, I never would’ve gone to that party. I never would’ve gone to prison. But I can’t change any of that now. All I can do is tell you how much I love you and how sorry I am.
I know this might sound crazy, but if this had never happened—if I hadn’t made those choices—I would’ve asked you to marry me. I would’ve asked you to be mine forever. But now I can’t do that. I can’t ask you to wait for me.
Know that you will always have a piece of my heart, and if you find someone who makes you happy, who loves you the way you deserve to be loved, then I will be okay with that. I want you to be happy, Kenna. I always have. And I can’t ask you to wait for me, not when I don’t even know what’s going to happen to me.
Please take care of yourself. You deserve that. You deserve happiness.
Love, Cole
My hand trembles so badly after this one that I have to set the pen down. My entire body feels hollow. There’s nothing left to give. Writing her name felt like saying goodbye. I don’t know whether she’ll forgive me. Hell, I don’t even know if she’ll read it. But she has to know. She has to know that I still see her when I close my eyes. That I still dream of the life we almost had.
Once the letters are finished, sealed up, and ready to be sent out in the morning. I can’t stop my hands from shaking as I think about the trial tomorrow. The weight of what I’ve done, the consequences of those actions, is heavy.
The night drags on. The minutes feel like hours. I lay down on the cot, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a whirlwind of guilt and fear. Tomorrow, my life could change forever. Tomorrow, I’ll find out how much of my future I have left.
I think about Kenna again. I think about how much I wish I could be there for her. I don’t want to leave her like this. I don’t want to let her down. But I’ve already done that.
And tomorrow, when I walk into that courtroom, I won’t just be fighting for myself. I’ll be facing every person I’ve hurt. Every lie I’ve ever told will be sitting there with them, staring me down. The shame, the guilt, the wreckage I caused—it’s all going to have a name and a face. And for once, I won’t get to hide behind excuses or silence. I’ll have to look them in the eye and own it.
I wake up to the sound of guards moving down the hallway. It’s still early, but I know what today is. The trial. The day everything will either break or heal.
I take a deep breath, trying to push the fear down. I’ve been waiting for this moment for months, and now that it’s here, I feel like I’m not ready for it. But I don’t have a choice. I have to face the consequences of what I’ve done.
The guards come for me, and they lead me down the hall toget dressed. I’m given my suit, a standard one they have in the system for inmates.
I stare at my reflection in the small metal mirror. I barely recognize myself. My eyes look hollow. My skin is pale. The suit doesn’t fit right—it hangs on me like the weight of everything I’ve lost.
When I step out into the waiting area, my mom is there, her face a picture of worry and love. She rushes to me, wraps her arms around me, and whispers, “I love you, Cole. No matter what happens, I love you.”
I try to hold back the tears, but I can’t. “I’m sorry, Mom. I never wanted this for you.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” she says, her voice trembling. “We’ll get through this. Whatever happens, we’ll get through this.”
Her hands are icy against my face, and when she looks at me, it’s like she’s trying to memorize me. Like she knows something I don’t. And maybe she does—mothers always seem to.
Our lawyer arrives, and the mood shifts, as it always does when it’s time to talk business. The lawyer briefs me on what’s coming.
“The worst-case scenario is ten years,” he says. “Best-case, you’re looking at five. If you plead guilty, there’s a chance the judge will be lenient, but it depends on a lot of factors.”
I nod, trying to process the words. Ten years. Five years. No matter what, it’s years away from everything I know, everything I love. And it might just be the price I have to pay.
“Do I look like someone who deserves mercy?” I ask him. I’m not even sure why. I’m not fishing for comfort—I think I just need to hear someone say yes.
