Chapter 12 - The Prison CallThe digital display on the kitchen landline flashed brightly: COLLECT CALL FROM FEDERAL CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION.

I stared at the blinking light. For a split second, my hand hovered over the receiver. Part of me wanted to block the number permanently and never hear his voice again. But another, stronger part of me wanted closure—the final punctuation mark on a chapter that had caused so much pain.
I picked up the handset and pressed the button to accept the charges.
"Helen?"
Daniel’s voice sounded hollow, raspy, and stripped of all its former arrogance. It was the voice of a broken man living in a concrete box.
"I'm here, Daniel," I said, keeping my tone completely neutral, devoid of anger or pity.
"Please... you have to listen to me," he pleaded, his breathing shallow on the other end of the line. "The prison parole board is reviewing my case for an early hardship transfer next month. If you write a character letter—just a small statement saying I'm not a danger—they might commute my sentence. I’ve lost everything, Helen. My cellmate is—it’s hell here. Please."
I let out a slow, steady breath. The sheer audacity of his request was staggering. Even after everything, he still believed other people existed solely to rescue him from the consequences of his own choices.
"Daniel," I said softly, the calmest I had ever sounded in our entire relationship. "When I stood in that airport terminal with three newborn babies and a welcome sign, you looked me in the eye and told me you found real love while abandoning your family."
"I was stupid! I was arrogant! I was blind!" he sobbed.
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"Yes, you were," I replied. "And consequences aren't a temporary inconvenience, Daniel. They are permanent. You made your bed in a federal prison cell, and now you have to lie in it. Do not ever call this house again."
I clicked the disconnect button before he could utter another word.