Chapter 6 - The Visitor
Thursday evening, the hospital room was quiet again.
Wendy was resting peacefully, her color finally returning to a healthy, natural pink. Little Julian was fast asleep in his bassinet, swaddled in a soft blue blanket I had bought him that morning from the hospital gift shop.
I was standing by the window, watching the city lights flicker on across the skyline, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
I turned.
The door pushed open slowly, revealing a figure looking utterly shattered.
It was my mother, Jessi.
She wasn't wearing her designer silk resort cover-up anymore. She was wearing a standard-issue, orange county jail jumpsuit that was two sizes too big for her. Her hair—usually coiffed, sprayed, and highlighted to perfection—was a wild, tangled bird's nest of grey roots and unwashed strands. Her face was bare of makeup, exposing deep, terrified wrinkles, and her wrists were bare where her diamond tennis bracelets used to sit.
Behind her stood a county sheriff’s deputy, resting one hand casually on his holstered belt.
“Mr. Brooks?” the deputy asked, looking at me. “She insisted on a five-minute supervised visitor window before her transfer to the state holding facility. Court order allows it, but the moment she causes a scene, I’m pulling her out.”
“Give us five minutes, Officer,” I said quietly, my voice entirely flat. “I’ll make sure she behaves.”
The deputy nodded, stepped back out into the hallway, and pulled the heavy wooden door mostly closed, leaving a narrow crack of light.
Jessi stood frozen just inside the threshold. She looked around the sterile hospital room, her eyes darting past the medical monitors, landing briefly on Wendy sleeping peacefully in the bed, and finally resting on me.
Her lower lip trembled violently.
May you like
“Luca...” she whimpered, the sound pathetic and broken. She took a step forward, raising her hands as if to reach out to me, though the invisible weight of handcuffs seemed to hold her back. “Luca, please... you have to help us. You have to call your lawyers. They put me in a cell, Luca. A cold, concrete cell with a metal toilet. They wouldn't even let me call my hairdresser. Stephanie is crying in the holding block next door; she’s terrified of the inmates—”
I didn't move an inch. I didn't cross my arms. I didn't raise my voice. I simply
