Chapter 6
In the late autumn of the twelfth year of Christian’s sentence, Attorney Vance walked into Genevieve’s office and closed the door with a distinct, heavy click.
"Christian’s legal team has officially filed for a sentence reduction and early parole review," Vance said, sitting down. "They are citing his exemplary behavior, his public letters of remorse, and his participation in various rehabilitation programs within the facility."
Genevieve did not look up from her paperwork immediately. She took a slow, steady breath, letting the news settle into her mind before she responded.
"I expected this would happen eventually," she said, her voice calm. "The system always offers a door, even to men like him."
"The parole board has scheduled a hearing for next month," Vance continued, his expression grim. "As the primary victim, you have the right to submit a written impact statement, or you can attend the hearing in person to testify. Christian’s lawyers are going to present him as a reformed man, a father who wants to be reunited with his son, and a former celebrity who has learned his lesson."
"He is a very good actor," Genevieve noted quietly. "He spent his entire life learning how to make people believe his performance."
"Do you want to go, Genevieve?" Vance asked. "If you choose to attend, I will be right there with you. But it will be a media circus. The press will cover every second of it."
Genevieve stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the trees in the healing garden were bare, their branches dark and sharp against the gray sky. She thought about the courtroom twelve years ago, the shouting reporters, and the intense, exhausting pressure of the public eye. She had spent a decade building a life of quiet dignity, and the thought of stepping back into that arena made her stomach tighten.
"No," she said, turning back to Vance. "I am not going to attend in person."
Vance looked slightly surprised, but he nodded. "I understand. It is a significant emotional burden."
"It’s not about the burden, Vance," Genevieve explained, her voice steady. "If I attend, the media will make it about a confrontation between Christian and me. It will become a story about his rehabilitation versus my anger. I refuse to give him that stage. I refuse to let my presence be used to generate ratings for his final performance."
She sat back down at her desk. "But I will write a statement. And I want you to read it to the board."
For three days, Genevieve worked on the statement. She did not write with anger or seek vengeance. She did not recount the horrific details of the physical attack; those were already well-documented in the medical files and court records. Instead, she wrote with the cold, precise objectivity of an archivist documenting a historical fact.
On the day of the hearing, Genevieve remained at the center, working her normal hours. She supervised the intake of new clients, met with Dr. Pratt to discuss a reconstructive surgery grant, and helped Thomas select winter covers for the garden plants. She kept her phone in her drawer, refusing to check the live news updates.
At four o'clock in the afternoon, Vance returned. He looked tired, but his eyes were clear behind his glasses.
"The board has denied the petition," Vance announced, setting his briefcase on her table. "He will serve the remainder of his sentence. He will not be eligible for review again for another five years."
"How did it go?" Genevieve asked quietly.
"His lawyers presented a very polished case," Vance said. "They had letters from prison guards, certificates of completion for anger management, and a very emotional statement from Christian himself. He cried, Genevieve. He talked about his regrets, his son, and his desire to do charity work."
"And then?"
"And then I read your statement," Vance said, a small, grim smile appearing on his face. "I’d like to think it was the turning point. The board room went completely silent."
He pulled a copy of her statement from his briefcase and laid it on the desk. Genevieve looked down at her own words, printed in clean black ink:
“I do not write this statement to demand vengeance, nor do I write to evaluate the sincerity of the petitioner’s remorse. The court of law has already determined his guilt. I write simply to remind the board that domestic violence is not a temporary lapse in judgment, but a systematic choice to destroy another human being's autonomy.
The physical scars on my body are permanent. The medical damage is irreversible. These are the physical facts of his choices. A sentence reduction would suggest that twelve years of good behavior in a controlled environment can erase the lifelong consequences of a calculated crime.
I ask the board to maintain the original sentence, not to punish the man he claims to be today, but to protect the integrity of the justice system and the safety of the public.”
"They understood," Vance said softly. "The board chairperson specifically cited your statement in their decision. They agreed that the severity of the original crime and the permanent nature of the damage outweighed any claim of rehabilitation."
May you like
Genevieve closed the folder. She felt no explosion of joy, no sense of triumph over a defeated enemy. She simply felt a quiet, sober confirmation. The law had done its job, and her boundaries had been maintained.
She walked out of her office and down to the healing garden. The air was cold, smelling of approaching snow. She stood near the stone waterfall, watching the dark water trickle over the rocks. She felt light, solid, and entirely safe. The past had tried to claw its way back into her life, but she had met it with clear glass and solid ground, and it had been forced to retreat once more.
