Right before we walked out of the room, a small hand grabbed my arm. My smile dropped at the sight of Bianca Hernandez, Carlos’s wife. With a snarl on my face, I snatched my arm out of her grasp. “Don’t touch me.”
She flinched with tears running down her face. “Please, forgive me.” An older woman I presumed as her mother handed her a tissue and rubbed her back. “Please, in your heart, find forgiveness for the mistake of my husband. Have mercy and allow him to come home…to his family.”
Eyes were on me as I stared in bafflement at the audacity of this woman. Unable to hold it in, I burst into a fit of angry laughter causing her to cry harder. “Pax, let’s go.” Kandon tried to pull me away.
Snatching away from him, I pointed my finger in Bianca’s face. “Listen and listen good. I care nothing about your husband. The same way he considered the life of others the minute he got behind that wheel drunk is the same consideration I have for his freedom. None. Do you think I care he’s not home or that he’ll spend the rest of his life stuck in prison? Huh? Do you?” I yelled with spit flying out my mouth causing her to recoil into her mother's arms.
“I live in prison every day because he took my wife away from me. No. No mercy. If I have to suffer so will he. He’ll never get to lay next to you again. Never get to make love to you. Hear a random stale joke at two in the morning.” Hearing the quiver in my voice, I dropped my hands to my side. “Taste your holiday cooking. Hear you yell because he left his shoes in the middle of the floor. See you blush. No. He nor you will get that luxury while my wife is laying in a wooden box covered by six feet of dirt. Until my last breath, he’ll never feel joy or happiness. I control that.” I tried to control my emotions as my voice cracked even more. My vision became blurry and before the first tear fell, my brother wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me out of the room before I exploded any further than I had already done.
First, I had to deal with the fourth anniversary of Heather’s death approaching in the upcoming months. Then I had to sit here at a parole hearing to hear Carlos plead to see the light of day because he felt his sentence wasn’t fair and then for his wife to try and plead for him. How strong did these people think I was?
Seeing Carlos troubled me greatly. Many people thought my anger should have subsided by now…no. Every time I thought I was finished mourning and had a grip on my anger something happened that pulled me back into the cycle of delirium. It was exhausting.
How could I move on when every time I turned around there was someone or something that reminded me of what I lost?