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"The break is still being investigated, but he's back in prison now," Gerald added.
Regret washed over me in waves as the realization hit me. I hadn't writtenback to him, though I didn't know why he stopped writing me. Did he feel abandoned or that I didn't care?
I blinked, fighting back tears at the thought.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Branson, I know the news must come as a shock," Gerald continued. "We can't help him now. He made his choice."
I inhaled a shaky breath, my hands trembling.
"Look, take the rest of the day off. I'd be upset too if a killer showed up at my house," Gerald offered.
I nodded, closing Lorenzo's file as I stood, smoothing out my skirt absent-mindedly. I gathered my things and hurried from the office.
I was barely aware of getting in my car and driving home, as if I was on autopilot until I found myself in the kitchen. I stared out the window like I could still feel him out there watching me.
The ghost of what we almost had.
Mark came in late that night, the sound of his jingling keys snapping me out of my trance. He kissed my forehead before he went to the kitchen to fix himself a drink, but I couldn't even focus on him.
"Did you give any thought to what I said?" he wondered, loosening his tie. "I think you should cutback your hours at least. Look at you; you look shaken."
But he had no idea. I couldn't even concentrate, let alone process what he was saying.
My thoughts were filled with the man I couldn't forget, even after everything.
Lorenzo was back in prison, but there was no way for me to reach him. I stopped writing to him since he never reached out.
But maybe it wasn't his fault. Letters got lost in the mail all the time, and maybe even the guards were malicious enough to keep him from his mail. Mark told me to stop writing to him, and since I hadn't heard from Lorenzo, I did.
I swallowed, feeling a sense of loss deeper than it should be.
What if I'd written him anyway? If I had done things differently, could I have saved him? Could I have been the one to ensure he found redemption?
My phone rang. I picked it up, putting the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. Branson, it's Gerald. I'm sorry to say, Mr. Ricci killed anotherinmate."
I gasped.
"There's nothing more we can do for him. He was too far gone—"
But his voice faded away.
It was too late now; I knew it in my soul. He was too far gone, and I would never see him again. The worst part was that I wasn't even sure if I was wrong about him anymore. I knew there was good in him somewhere and that I hadn't been fooled.
But now, that good was gone, extinguished like the last flames lingering in a campfire.
Could someone like Lorenzo change? Could someone like him truly become a better man, or was I lying to myself this entire time?
I stood in the kitchen, staring out the window, and I realized something that shook me to my core.
I missed him, and not just the idea of him. Now, he was gone for good.
And it was my fault.
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Amara