Chapter 8 - THE SENTENCE
My cooperation agreement resulted in charges.
Not nothing.
I pleaded guilty to financial and conspiracy-related offenses connected to parts of the organization I had controlled.
The government acknowledged cooperation.
Victims’ funds were established from seized assets.
Sentencing day arrived eighteen months after Christmas Eve.
Norah did not attend.
I told her not to.
Sofia did.
Carlo did.
The judge spoke for a long time about power.
Responsibility.
The fact that cooperation does not erase years of choices.
I agreed.
My sentence included incarceration.
Less than it could have been.
More than I wanted.
When I called Norah afterward, my mouth went dry.
“How long?”
I told her.
Silence.
Then:
“The twins will be almost four.”
“Yes.”
My chest hurt.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“Do not spend prison turning regret into another identity.”
I almost laughed.
“What does that mean?”
“You were a criminal. Then a father. Then a cooperating witness. Don't become The Guilty Man forever.”
“What should I become?”
“Someone they can know when you come home.”
Home.
The word stayed.
I went to prison.
No special moral transformation montage.
It was prison.
Routine.
Noise.
Loss of choice.
I deserved the legal consequence without pretending suffering itself purified me.
I took parenting classes.
Therapy.
Read every pediatric-cardiology update Norah sent about Noah.
Lila learned to walk.
Then talk.
Her first word was “Mama.”
Noah’s was “Li.”
Lila.
I missed both.
Sofia visited.
Norah brought the twins once after they turned two.
Behind glass.
Lila stared at the phone.
“Daddy?”
The word nearly ended me.
Norah had taught them who I was.
Not erased me.
I cried after they left.
Not where anyone saw.
May you like
Some habits take longer.
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