Chapter 2

I remembered when Brandon was a boy. He broke a neighbor's antique vase and ran home crying.

I didn't yell at him. I just held his little hand and told him:

"Brandon, real men take responsibility for their actions. Let's go apologize. Mom will be right there with you."

I used an entire month's salary to pay for that vase.

That day, I told him, "Making a mistake isn't scary. What's scary is being too cowardly to own up to it."

And now, they were using the very lesson I taught them to force me to confess to a crime I never committed.

What they wanted me to confess to was far more than just theft.

With no one to clear my name, I was remanded to the county jail.

A four-person holding cell. The other three women looked up at me in unison.

"New granny on the block. What are you in for?" a woman with full-sleeve tattoos asked.

I didn't know how to answer.

Did I really commit a crime? Why was that necklace under my bed?

I couldn't remember.

The harder I tried to think, the more my skull throbbed, as if needles were piercing my brain.

"Hey, old lady, talking to you!"

I snapped out of it, realizing I had been staring at the moldy corner of the wall for God knew how long.

"I'm fine."

Except I wasn't.

My mind was deteriorating faster every day. I had already forgotten what that woman just asked me.

The next day, a guard called my name, saying I had a visitor.

A surge of joy rushed through me. I practically ran to the visitation booth.

They must have calmed down. They must have thought it through and realized I was innocent.

They were my children, my pride and joy. How could they not believe me?

I even planned it out: once I got out, I'd cook their favorite steak dinner, and we'd act like none of this ever happened.

"Mrs. Evans."

It was Mark.

He wasn't in uniform, holding a brown paper bag in his hands.

My heart sank.

Maybe Brandon and Chloe were just too busy.

I looked at Mark, and hazy memories began floating to the surface.

"You're... Rocky?"

I couldn't recall his full name right away, but I remembered his childhood nickname—because he was as stubborn as a rock.

Mark's eyes reddened instantly. He nodded hard. "Yes, Mrs. Evans. You still remember me."

He sat across from me and pulled a warm box of bagels from the bag.

"I remember these are your favorite. When you took our class on field trips back then, you always baked these for us."

The sweet, warm aroma hit my nose, and my tears spilled over.

"Mrs. Evans, please don't cry."

Mark handed me a tissue.

"I believe you. The Mrs. Evans I know wouldn't even waste a stub of chalk. There's no way on earth you'd steal someone's gold necklace."

He believed me.

I grabbed his hand like a drowning woman grabbing a lifeline. "Really? You really believe me?"

"Of course I do," Mark nodded firmly. "Can you walk me through what happened that day again? Any detail helps."

That day? Which day?

I strained to think, but the fog in my head only grew thicker.

I went to Brenda's house... we talked... and then?

"I can't remember," I gasped, shaking my head in agony. "I keep forgetting things lately. My head hurts so bad."

Mark frowned. "Have you seen a doctor? Have you been misplacing things often, or losing your balance?"

Doctor? What doctor?

The pain struck again—a vicious, tearing agony that made me want to slam my head against the counter.

"Mrs. Evans, are you okay?" Mark jumped up, trying to steady me.

"I can't remember!"

I clutched my head, weeping in pure despair. "Why was that necklace in my house? I swear to God I didn't take it!"

The concern in Mark's eyes deepened into horror.

After a long silence, he asked softly, "Your children... haven't they noticed anything wrong with your health?"

At the mention of my kids, a razor-sharp pain stabbed my chest.

"They came. They told me to plead guilty."

"Plead guilty?"

Mark's eyes widened in utter disbelief. "Shouldn't they be moving heaven and earth to get you out?!"

"They said I'm too proud. That I refuse to admit my mistakes."

I numbly parroted my children's words. "They think... I'm the one who killed their father."

Under the table, Mark's fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. He fell dead silent.