Chapter 11
I hesitated before answering.
I didn't know if I wanted to talk to Sloan's mother.
But something made me pick up.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Caldwell?" a soft voice said. "My name is Margaret. Margaret Carter. I'm Sloan's mother. Or Melissa's mother. That's her real name, you know. Melissa Ann Carter."
"I know," I said.
"I'm so sorry," she said. Tears in her voice. "For everything my daughter did to you and your family. I raised her better than this. I don't know what happened. I don't know when she became this person. But I'm so sorry."
I was quiet for a moment.
She sounded genuine.
Sad.
Broken.
"It's not your fault," I said finally. "We're all responsible for our own choices."
"Thank you," she said. "But that doesn't make it any easier. Knowing my daughter did those things. That she hurt so many people. That she's going to spend the rest of her life in prison."
She paused.
"I'm calling because I have something. Something of Sloan's. Or rather, something she stole. From you. I found it when I was cleaning out her apartment. I think you should have it back."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Your husband's photograph," she said. "The one she moved from the mantel. She took it with her when she left. I don't know why. But I found it in a box. And I wanted to return it to you. Along with some other things. Letters. From Sloan. About what she was planning. They might help you. Or they might help you find closure."
I thought about it.
Richard's photograph.
The one Sloan had moved.
The one I'd thought was lost forever.
"I'd like that," I said.
We arranged to meet.
At a café in town.
Neutral ground.
Margaret was a small woman.
Quiet.
Kind eyes.
She looked nothing like Sloan.
She was carrying a box.
She stood up when I walked in.
"Mrs. Caldwell," she said.
"Please. Call me Lorraine."
We sat down.
She pushed the box toward me.
"I'm so sorry," she said again.
"I know."
I opened the box.
On top was Richard's photograph.
In its frame.
A little dusty.
But otherwise fine.
I picked it up.
I wiped the dust off.
I held it to my chest.
Tears filled my eyes.
"Thank you," I said.
Margaret nodded.
"There's more," she said.
Underneath the photograph were letters.
And a journal.
Sloan's journal.
I looked at Margaret.
"She wrote everything down," Margaret said. "Her plans. Her thoughts. Everything. I thought you should have it. For the foundation. For the book. To help people understand what people like my daughter are capable of. To help them protect themselves."
I nodded.
"Thank you. This will help a lot of people."
We talked for a while.
Margaret told me about Sloan as a little girl.
How she'd always been different.
Cold.
Manipulative.
Even as a child.
How Margaret had tried to get her help.
But nothing had worked.
How she'd watched her daughter turn into a monster.
And had been powerless to stop it.
My heart went out to her.
She was a victim too.
In her own way.
We parted as friends.
We kept in touch.
Margaret became involved with the foundation.
She used her story to help other parents.
To help them recognize the signs in their own children.
To get them help before it was too late.
She turned her pain into something good.
Just like I had.
I read Sloan's journal.
It was chilling.
Cold.
Calculating.
Every step planned.
Every move calculated.
From the moment she'd first seen Harrison at that conference.
To the marriage.
To moving into the house.
To the cake.
To the plan to take everything.
She'd thought of everything.
Everything except one thing.
That I would fight back.
That I would stop being polite.
That I would burn her purse.
That I would stand up for myself.
She'd underestimated me.
And it had cost her everything.
I used the journal to help the foundation.
To create educational materials.
To help people recognize the signs of manipulation and exploitation.
To protect themselves.
Good was coming from evil.
Hope was coming from pain.
Life was full of such surprises.
That fall, Harrison and Emily got married.
At the house.
In the backyard.
Under the oak tree where Richard and I had said our vows.
It was a beautiful ceremony.
Small.
Intimate.
Full of love.
Harrison cried when he saw Emily walking down the aisle.
I cried too.
Happy tears.
My son was finally getting the happy ending he deserved.
Chloe was the flower girl.
She looked beautiful.
Frank was Harrison's best man.
I was so proud.
So happy.
So grateful.
After the ceremony, Harrison pulled me aside.
"Thank you, Mom," he said. "For everything. For fighting for me. For never giving up on me. For helping me become the man I am today."
"You did that yourself," I said. "I just helped."
He hugged me.
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you too, baby."
Life was perfect.
But there was one more thing I wanted to do.
One more place I wanted to go.
One more person I wanted to see.
Sloan.
One last time.
Not because I wanted to gloat.
But because I wanted to tell her something.
Something important.
May you like
Something she needed to hear.
Before I closed that chapter of my life forever.
