Chapter 4 - The Cell Visit
Two weeks after the accident, Lily was finally discharged from the hospital.
Her physical healing was progressing, though she still wore a fitted torso brace to protect her mending ribs. My sister, Sarah, had cleared out her quiet country home in Dublin, Ohio, providing a safe, tranquil sanctuary for Lily to rest away from the swarming news cameras.
Once Lily was settled and resting comfortably, I took a drive down to the Franklin County Correctional Center.
I didn't need to go. Eleanor had advised against it, telling me I owed Grant nothing. But I needed to look him in the eye one last time—not as a heartbroken wife, but as the sole protector of the child he had tried to destroy.
The visitation room smelled of bleach, old floor wax, and despair.
I sat behind the thick glass partition, waiting. Two minutes later, the heavy metal door clicked open, and a guard escorted Grant to the stool opposite mine.
He looked uncoordinated, sunken, and broken. The tailored suit was gone, replaced by a dark green inmate uniform. His hair was shaved short, his hands were handcuffed to a leather waist belt, and his eyes were bloodshot and hollow.
He looked at me through the glass, his lips trembling. He picked up the telephone receiver with shaking, cuffed hands.
I picked up my receiver.
"Claire..." his voice crackled through the small speaker, weak and desperate. "Thank God you came. Please... you have to help me. The public defender they gave me doesn't care. He wants me to take a ten-year plea deal!"
"Ten years sounds generous for helping a woman run over your daughter," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion.
"I didn't know it was Lily!" Grant cried out, pressing his forehead against the glass. "You have to believe me, Claire! Vanessa told me she hit a pole! She swore to me she didn't hurt anyone! I was just trying to protect her business because I was stupid! I was under her spell!"
"You weren't under a spell, Grant," I replied calmly. "You were greedy. You were arrogant. And you were so desperate to believe I was a unfaithful wife that you bought a fake DNA test from your mistress so you could play the victim."
Grant closed his eyes, tears squeezing past his lashes. "I made a mistake... a terrible, awful mistake. But Lily... how is she? Can I see her? Can I write her a letter?"
"No," I said instantly. "You will never see her again. Yesterday, the family court judge signed a permanent protection order. You are legally forbidden from contacting Lily, directly or indirectly, for the rest of your life."
Grant gasped, his body shaking against the counter. "No... no! She's my daughter, Claire! You proved it! She's mine!"
"She was your daughter when she was lying under warming blankets in the ICU," I reminded him, leaning closer to the glass. "She was your daughter when she asked if she was an unwanted kid. And you walked into an elevator to buy your mistress a dress."
"Claire, please!" he sobbed, banging his cuffed hands against the partition. "I have nothing left! They froze the accounts! Northstar fired me! My parents won't even answer my calls! If I take this plea deal, I'll be fifty years old when I get out!"
"Then you will have fifty years to think about the choice you made at 5:41 p.m. at Maison Vale," I said.
I set the telephone receiver back onto its hook.
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Grant beat his fists against the glass, screaming my name through the thick plastic, his face contorted in hysterical, useless rage as the guards grabbed his arms and pulled him backward toward the cell block.
I stood up, smoothed down my coat, and walked out into the crisp afternoon air, leaving Grant Mercer behind in the dark where he belonged.
