The Kidnapper's Wife

54. After

I follow the guard out of the waiting room and down a hallway. Again, there are no cells, just badly lit cinderblock walled passageways. And again, it's nothing new to me. I've been down these hallways before, to meet clients, and to question informants. But never like this. Never to visit someone I know.

At the end of the hallway, I follow the guard through a door beyond which sit several cubby stations. They look something like library carrols, but when you sit at them you face a clear plastic barrier with a phone hanging on it.

Right now, all the cubby's are empty. The guard directs me toward one in the middle and I sit down. As I look down at my lap, I notice my hands shaking under the table.

"I'll be out in the hallway if you need me." The guard says to me in a monotone. We both know I won't need him. What's Connor going to do, break through the bulletproof (or at least, I assume it's bulletproof) glass?

"Thanks." I say anyway, licking my lips with a too dry tongue.

The seconds go by like minutes, and my heart is racing in my chest. I'm terrified. It's been 8 months since I've been face to face with my husband and I have no idea how I'll react. Or how he will.

I don't even know what I'll say. I know I want to hear the truth from him. But I don't know if I'll get it. After all, Connor's entire life has been a lie. Why should now be any different.

Suddenly I check myself. Who am I right now? Eight months ago I was Jade Carter, high powered prosecutor who didn't back down from anything or anyone. Now, I'm some faded version of my former self, cowering in the wake of facing my own husband behind a glass screen. This isn't me.

I'm not the one who should be shivering in shame, Connor is. I did nothing wrong, I gave everything to him and to our marriage. He's the one that betrayed me. He's the one who should be ashamed.

I force myself to sit up straighter and look through the glass screen, pulling up my stony prosecutor's face that has gone unused for so long. 

Right after I do, the door behind the glass opens and a guard walks in. Behind him, a man follows. Connor.

He looks just like he used to. The beige prison suit he's wearing isn't his best look, but his face is just as attractive as it's always been. I think back to an article Cara sent me a few months ago, titled "Hot Prison Mug Shots." Connor would definitely make that cut. 

The thought makes me start, as I realize that Connor actually does have a mug shot now. I've been avoiding the news, so I haven't seen it. I wonder what he looks like in it. It would have been taken right after he was captured. Does he look defeated? Angry at having his plan foiled? Upset at losing everything he'd worked for? Or maybe even...afraid?

I make a mental note to check it later and focus on holding my stony expression in place. The guard is talking to Connor, a few feet behind the glass. Connor's attention is on him, so far he hasn't even looked at me. Is he ashamed? Or just preoccupied. He's nodding to the guard, who turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. 

Finally, Connor turns to face me. At first, I can't read his expression. He sits down across from me, his face almost unreadable as mine. 

After a moment, he picks up the phone on his side of the glass, and I mimic him, putting the cool, smooth surface of the receiver to my ear. How many other people have sat on this side of the glass, facing someone they loved across from them. Trying to justify who they thought they knew with who that person really is, or has become.

 I think of other times I've been in this room, sometimes with other people. The crying wives. The bouncing children. The nervous mothers. The disappointed fathers. I've seen it all and yet never really noticed it. Never really thought about how before, being here was just a task on a checklist, but for those people, sitting here was an embodiment of what their lives had become. 

I raise my eyes from the cord of phone to meet Connor's. He's looking at me already and, after a few seconds, he speaks.

"Jade," is all he says, and the second it's out of his mouth he starts crying. 

I have never seen Connor cry before. Ever. Not when he rescued me from my bachelorette party. Not when one of his coworkers that we'd been friends with had died in a car accident. Not when he broke his arm trying to rock climb when we were hiking in South America. I've seen him sad, upset, distressed, but never like this. Never this broken. 

I'm not even sure how to react. My first instinct is to avert my eyes, staring down at the table in front of me instead of at him. But then my inner prosecutor comes back out and takes over. For a minute I'm not staring at my husband, I'm staring at a man who has ruined my life. I let the anger take over so that I don't feel pity. 

The tears stream down his face as he stares into my hard glare. When I let the hostile expression take over my face, it's Connor who is averting his eyes. He stares down at his hands, which he is wringing in his lap. 

"Jade." He says again, and I wait.

"Jade, I'm....I'm so sorry."