Her face on the screen looked fifteen years older than the last time I had seen it.

“Jade, please,” she wept.

“I was desperate.

Everything I did, I did for my son’s future.” “You pulled my hair and held me down,” I said flatly, “while your husband beat me, for my grandmother’s money.” “Forgive me, Jade.

If you would only speak to the judge, ask for leniency, maybe—” And I understood, listening to her, that she had not changed at all, not by one degree.

She was not apologizing for destroying my life.