Chapter 8 - The Letters
Gabriel received thirty months.
Norah cried in the courthouse bathroom.
Not because she thought the sentence unfair.
Because part of her had begun imagining he might come home.
Instead, Gabriel entered federal custody.
He did not ask Norah to wait.
He did not ask her to visit.
He made only one request.
“Let me write to them.”
So every Sunday, a letter arrived.
Not to Norah.
To Elias and Rose.
The first began:
Dear Elias and Rose,
Today you are seventy-three days old, and your mother says you have both discovered screaming for no identifiable reason. I respect your commitment.
Norah laughed despite herself.
The letters continued.
Gabriel wrote about ordinary things.
Books he read.
Mistakes he regretted.
His father.
Their grandmother Rosa.
He never romanticized the Costa name.
When the twins were six months old:
Your mother sent me a photograph of you eating carrots. Elias, most of yours were on your forehead. Rose, you appeared personally offended by vegetables. I have never been prouder.
At nine months:
You both stood today. Your mother sent the video. I watched it seventeen times. Luca says eighteen, but Luca exaggerates.
Norah visited occasionally.
At first, every conversation was awkward.
Then they became easier.
Gabriel looked different.
Less polished.
More human.
During one visit, Norah asked, “Do you miss the money?”
“No.”
“The house?”
“No.”
“Power?”
Gabriel thought.
“Sometimes.”
She appreciated the honesty.
“What do you miss most?”
He looked at her.
“Coffee.”
She laughed.
Gabriel smiled.
“And you.”
Her laughter disappeared.
He immediately looked down.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
Norah touched the glass separating them.
“Don't apologize for telling the truth.”
Gabriel raised his hand against the opposite side.
They did not call it reconciliation.
Not yet.
Outside prison, Norah rebuilt her life.
She returned to restoration work.
With assets legally cleared from Gabriel's legitimate holdings, a trust was established for the twins.
Norah refused the mansion.
It was eventually sold.
Part of the proceeds went toward addiction treatment programs in neighborhoods damaged by the Costa organization.
Another portion funded legal aid for families affected by corruption connected to Marco.
Gabriel suggested both.
Twenty-two months into his sentence, Norah received unexpected news.
Gabriel was being released early because of substantial cooperation and good conduct.
She stared at the email for nearly ten minutes.
Then she looked toward the twins.
Elias was trying to put a sock on Rose's head.
Rose was retaliating with a stuffed giraffe.
“Your father is coming home.”
They stared at her.
Then Elias shouted, “Dada!”
Norah covered her mouth.
Release day arrived beneath a bright April sky.
Gabriel walked through the gate carrying one cardboard box.
He expected Luca.
Instead, Norah stood beside an ordinary blue SUV.
Two toddlers waited beside her.
Gabriel stopped walking.
Rose stared suspiciously.
Elias recognized him from video calls.
“Dada!”
The little boy ran.
Gabriel dropped the box.
He fell to his knees and caught his son.
Rose hesitated.
Then toddled after her brother.
Gabriel gathered them both against his chest.
Norah watched him cry.
Eventually he looked at her.
“Hi.”
She smiled.
“Hi.”
The drive home was chaotic.
Rose threw crackers.
Elias demanded the same song seven times.
Gabriel looked happier than Norah had ever seen him.
Then they arrived.
Gabriel stared through the windshield.
It wasn't the Costa mansion.
It was a modest restored farmhouse north of Chicago.
White siding.
Green shutters.
A porch.
Children's toys everywhere.
“You live here?”
“We live here.”
Gabriel looked at her.
Norah swallowed.
“There is a guest room.”
His expression softened.
“I understand.”
“This isn't us getting back together.”
“I understand.”
“You need somewhere to start.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Thank you.”
That evening, he helped bathe the twins.
It was catastrophic.
Elias dumped water over Gabriel's head.
Rose escaped naked into the hallway.
Norah laughed so hard she had to sit on the floor.
Gabriel chased Rose carrying a towel.
“This child is incredibly fast!”
“She gets that from me.”
“Apparently.”
Later, after the twins slept, Gabriel found Norah on the porch.
He sat beside her.
“I used to think happiness would feel bigger.”
Norah looked at him.
“What does it feel like?”
He listened to crickets.
“Quiet.”
Norah rested her head against his shoulder.
Gabriel didn't move.
Then she whispered:
“Don't make me regret this.”
May you like
He understood exactly what she meant.
“I won't.”
