The prison stood ominously on top of a steep hill. While Vincent drove us up, I could feel the incline in my stomach. It was all barbed wire and chain-link fences for a quarter mile. The grass fields between them were a muddy brown, filled with weeds and stray plastic bags. The sky was darker than it had been earlier in the day and I watched three crows fly in circles around the parking lot as Vincent spoke to the security guard in the booth. The parking arm lifted for us to pass through, causing the crows to scatter. 

On the drive over, Vincent and I decided it would be best if we recorded this conversation just in case. We didn't have any of the fancy equipment we had used when speaking to Darren. Instead, I had my smartphone with its built-in voice recording app to rely on. 

I was going in by myself but before I could step into the visiting room, Vincent stopped mr with a gentle tug on my sleeve. 

"Remember, who your father is, isn't who you are." 

What might have seemed like such an obvious statement to anyone else had weaved around my heart to give it a reassuring squeeze. My whole life I had identified myself too closely with my family. It was natural to want to belong somewhere and to someone, especially when those people shared my DNA. However, I let my family tell me who I was to my own detriment. The narrative that I was somehow inferior because of what I had gone through had embedded itself into my self perception. Of course it was difficult to be strong when I had always been told I couldn't be. 

Because of my father, I spent years being afraid of myself. I saw blood on my own hands, worrying that I had it in me to be the same merciless killer he was. I feared I was genetically disposed to being something evil. I needed to know him, to know he wasn't all bad, so I could believe I wasn't either. But I was not like my father. I didn't have to be. It was a conscious choice I could make, not a family curse that could sneak up on me. 

I was Mickey. I didn't have to be like my family and I didn't have to be who they said I was. 

"Thank you," I said to Vincent. Then I stepped into the visitation area. 

I sat at a steel colored table. The surface was cold as ice so I kept my palms in my lap. There was only one other visitor in the large room of tables but it seemed as if the meeting was coming to an end. The older man who was visiting stood up as a guard put a short inmate in handcuffs. Just as the short prisoner was walked out, a new one was walked in. 

My father. 

I could feel my pulse in my throat. 

In all the pictures I had seen, my father had a subtle intensity. He didn't smile in any of them but it didn't make him appear scary but more so like he was a serious man. His towering height, braced jaw, and angular eyebrows had made him seem like the kind of man who was no fun to be around. Boring at best, stuck up at worst. If there was anything in his appearance that could have hinted at what he would later go on to do, it was what bled out from his inner workings. Physically, he hadn't looked like your average, stereotypical idea of a criminal. 

The man I saw being led to my table was different. 

His shoulders and chest were big enough to stretch the fabric of the jumpsuit out. His wrinkles were like leather, deep and dry. He should have only been in his fifties but I supposed that prison could have an effect on the natural aging process. Infused with his wrinkles were scars. Some ran across his face in white lines. Some were swollen and red. His nose was odd too, crooked and bumpy. It was like it had been broken and never set right. 

Still, I could see traces of my own face in his. 

I didn't say anything until he was sitting before me. His palms rested in front of him. His ankle was handcuffed to the table. His expression had been blank as he made his way over to me. I was wondering if he was angry since I stopped writing to him. Then, his shoulders started to bounce. His wrinkled and scarred face scrunched up. 

Was he laughing at me? 

No.

There were tears trailing down his face. He was sobbing. 

Out of all the first reactions I had expected, this wasn't among them. "Why are you crying?" 

He wiped his eyes with his thumb. The tip of the finger was missing. 

"It's not the same," he croaked out. He sniffled and cleared his throat in an effort to compose himself. "Seeing you in pictures and seeing you in person. It's not the same."  

I went quiet. I didn't know what to say.

"You're so big." The three words were laced with regret. It sounded like a wounded howl. "Mi hija, I remember when you were a baby. You were so tiny. I could hold you in my hands like this." 

He cupped his hands so that they touched each other. A somber smile overtook his features. 

"I hate that I missed it all," he said, his lips puckering into a scowl. "The highlight of the last decade of my life has been the letters you sent me." 

I knew he had read them because the other detectives had found his responses to them. It was clear he appreciated them enough to write back but did they actually mean that much to him? 

"You look skeptical." His gaze locked on mine as he spoke. "Dear Father, today in school I had to write a poem about where I come from and she said mine was the best but not to tell anybody. I hope this doesn't anger you but I wrote about mom. I don't know you very well." 

My throat went tight. He was reciting the letter word for word.  

He began to recite another. This one was even more heartbreaking than the last. 

"Today, I met a boy who was kind. He doesn't remind me of you. Still, I am scared. What if he becomes you? What if I become you?" 

The boy in question had been Adonis. I had written the letter hours after I met him. 

I had written many other letters, letters that weren't taking digs at my father to try and relieve my mental anguish. It didn't make sense to me why he would want to remember those. If he truly craved a relationship with me, they should have been tortuous to read. Unless that was the point. It could have been a form of punishment for what he did. 

My father clasped his hands together, leaning forward as he spoke. "I would read and reread your letters every night like a prayer. I tried to write back but Cristina's brother was keeping them from you." 

Hearing him say my mother's name sent a sharp bolt into my chest. He said it like she was something to him, like he had a right to her. 

"How can you act like you care about me when you killed my mother?" 

He gulped and ducked his head. He didn't take long to reply which made me think this was something he had anticipated that I would ask if I ever came to see him and he had prepared for it.

"I loved your mother." 

I worked hard to keep my voice level, not wanting to alert the prison guard that stood a few feet away. 

"You killed her." 

He sighed, having the nerve to look pained. He rubbed his salt and pepper beard and snuck a look at the guard. Then he refocused his eyes on me with a hushed voice. 

"They were going to do much worse than kill her. At my hands, she didn't suffer. I thought they would take all of you. I was going to kill us all so they couldn't."

I had been right. The way I remembered things going all the house years ago, I had the vague feeling he was going to shoot me next. I couldn't remember exactly why since my memory had faded over the years. The confirmation would have made me want to get up and leave right then but I was caught up on another detail. 

They were going to do much worse than kill her. 

Who were they? Why would they want to kill my mother? I thought I knew the answer but for the recording, I needed him to admit it out loud. 

"Did you owe people money?" 

"They were going to find us no matter what. I did everything I could and I was backed into a corner," he said. "I was just trying to protect my family the only way I could." 

I rubbed my temples. My father had gotten involved in something criminal in order to provide for his family. Somewhere along the way, things went wrong. The people he was involved with were evil enough that they would try to kill our whole family. There wasn't enough time for him to call the police and he couldn't defend us because whatever he was up against was bigger than him. He was saying his hand had been forced. 

"It worked out the best it could." He choked on the sentence. His frown was anything but optimistic. "You and your sister were relocated and I was safe from the dealers behind bars. They backed off. You were safe for years." 

 I raised my eyebrows. "But not anymore. You have been sending my family money and I highly doubt you've been getting an allowance from the prison guards." 

My father's gaze wandered over to the guard but he was preoccupied chatting with another employee. 

"It's taken me a long time to get where I am now," he said. "I did it so I could provide for you girls. It's my job as a father." 

I could tell he meant it. He truly thought he was doing the best he could by participating in drug ring even while he was in prison. I blinked back tears. 

"We could have been happy. If you hadn't gotten involved with those people, we could have been a family." 

My mother wouldn't have had to die. My father could have helped her raise me. I wouldn't have had to carry the heavy weight of trauma inside me. I wouldn't have to miss Adonis and I wouldn't have ever given someone like Darren a chance. 

"Did Nancy come to visit you because she found out?" 

"She found out and came to ask for help for the wedding." 

My fists curled. She had lied. Nancy lied and lied and lied straight to my face. She had risked everyone's lives by taking money earned by crimes. Adonis was dead because Nancy wanted a fancy wedding. Was the venue worth it? The dress and tiara? 

"So what went wrong? They tried to kill me today. Did you know that?" 

My father's face contorted into an outraged snarl. "What?" 

"My ex-boyfriend is in critical condition. My little cousin had to shoot a man dead. My brother-in-law was killed at his wedding. You say you were trying to help but look at what you did! You and Nancy are responsible for all this bloodshed." 

"I'm sorry it got messy. Nancy told me that man, your ex, is no good. Let him take the blame. I have paid back all the money I owed just today. Everything can be wrapped up nicely if he's convicted for drug trafficking." 

My mouth fell open. 

"If you're worried he'll get hurt, don't. I can protect him. No one will touch him while he's here," my father assured me. 

My stomach flipped with nausea. I thought of the trail that led to Darren. I had been too eager to follow it, even with the amount of hesitation I had practiced. It had been expertly crafted behind the scenes. Nancy had even convinced Darren she was on his side. 

"You two have been trying to set him up from the beginning, haven't you?" 

"It was supposed to rest on Adonis. I had left a trail leading to him just in case. Nothing was supposed to happen -" 

"How could you?!" 

I thought of the Adonis's blood specked watch that I had found at the thrift store and the bruises on his back I spotted during the lake trip. Those men had probably been harassing him for the money they thought he owed for the weeks leading up to the wedding. He was too scared to speak up and perhaps so caught up in Nancy's lies, that he waited until the wedding before he took any action. 

My father brought his hands down on the surface of the table hard. "I've been trying my best here! Adonis was just the easiest person to blame in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of the people I worked with. He was low income, his brother was a recently sober addict. People would trace it back to our family no matter what. Would you rather have me blame your uncle? Your aunt?" 

"I would have rather you left us alone." 

"I have done my best to protect you and I would have been able to do more had you not worked with that detective." 

I suddenly remembered the phone calls I had received. The anonymous caller I thought had been a random person paid to protect me. 

He read my realization off my expression. "I had eyes on you. I was able to keep tabs and speak to you myself. I wish we could have spoken on the phone under better circumstances -" 

"Enough," I said my head pounding. I straightened and signaled for the prison guard. "I'm done here." 

The guard forced my father to stand up and placed handcuffs on his wrists before removing the one on his ankle. 

"I love you, Michelle. I really was doing my best." 

The guard began to pull him away. He resisted a little, the guard struggling to detain such a large man. He appeared ready to call for reinforcement. 

I didn't say anything in return. I turned around and removed my phone from the pocket of my jeans. The flashing red button blinked back at me. 

There it was. A fifteen minute recording with the truth I had so desperately wanted to discover. The same recording that offered justice and peace was going to send my pregnant sister to prison.

Author's Note: Remember to vote and comment!