Chapter 42
She gently combed his bangs, then trimmed the hairs on his forehead, meticulously. Her entire attention was focused on the task.
Jason watched her, admiring her concentration. That singular focus had served her well throughout her life—first in her education, graduating top of her class at university and later at law school, and then in surviving prison.
Guilt stabbed at him. He’d witnessed her abuse. What must her life be like behind bars, unprotected, constantly threatened by criminals hoping to please him?
He hung onto her sharp intake of breath. Her mouth was pretty—full lips, a bright smile. He realized she didn’t smile enough. Her skin, though reddened by wind and cold, pinkening her cheeks and nose, only enhanced her beauty. He could see the beauty she once possessed, the symmetry and character of her features. But it wasn't her outward appearance that drew him; it was her inner strength.
This woman—she'd fought for him, sacrificing so he could have shelter, warm clothes, and food. She'd asked for nothing in return. Knowing her appreciation for him awakened something within him.
"It's done," she said after an indeterminate time.
"Oh, already?" he asked. Time with her seemed to fly.
"Mmm." She smiled, stepped back, and studied him. "My skills aren't too bad. In fact, they're rather good, and we've saved twenty dollars." She smiled, then used a dry towel to remove stray hairs from his face, neck, and clothes.
"Alright, go take a shower," Grace said.
Jason took the change of clothes and entered the narrow bathroom. Conserving energy, he used warm, not hot, water. As the water rinsed away the hair clippings, he saw the scar on his chest—a shallow mark now, but a constant reminder of the woman who'd abandoned him and his father. Perhaps it was the only thing he had left of her.
He remembered kneeling, begging her not to leave, his hands pried free as she shook her head. When she shoved him away, he fell onto a piece of rebar. His memories were fragmented, but he recalled her beautiful smile twisting into a snarl, and the agonizing inability to breathe as the metal pierced his chest. The doctors had said it came dangerously close to his heart; a centimeter to the left, and he wouldn't have survived.
He'd told himself then that she was no longer his mother. He walled himself off, and after his father's death, stopped expecting anything from anyone. No expectations meant no disappointment. But…
He turned off the tap, dried himself, and dressed. Entering the main room, he saw Grace at the table, seemingly studying something.
Since when had he started having expectations of her? He looked forward to her smile, her happiness. He lived for those moments when she looked at him with gentle eyes and smiled—a smile that lit up the room.
"Jay." Even the sound of his name on her lips brought him joy.
"Jay, you're done? I'll help you dry your hair," she said, rising to get the hairdryer.
He walked to the table and saw documents—copies of her original case file. His eyes flashed. "What are you looking at, Sister?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Some related information from my case," she said. "Lina helped me collect them."
"Why are you reading this again?" he asked.
Grace had asked herself the same question. Three years had passed, and she couldn't overturn the verdict. She didn't know where the witnesses were now. What could a sanitation worker do?
But could she really accept her false conviction? She knew the evidence, but she also knew it wasn't true. She hadn't been drinking; there had to be a mistake. It was impossible for her tests to show a high blood alcohol content—she hadn't consumed a drop.
Chapter 42
"Perhaps there are still things I don't understand," Grace mumbled, determined to find the truth. She didn't understand why Jennifer's car had been speeding toward her, or why the witness statements were all against her. All the evidence had pointed to her guilt.
The accident had been traumatic, and some details surrounding the investigation remained unclear. She'd been in shock. But she couldn't understand the overwhelming amount of security and camera footage—almost every street had cameras, and the witnesses' accounts were identical. As an attorney, she knew that rarely happened. People had different perceptions based on their position, age, sex, and perspective. Even a simple traffic violation could be interpreted differently.
Could it have been something else entirely?