The Sentence

I. Innocence

I stood with my lawyer before the judge, and he asked if I had anything to say before pronouncing my sentence. The only person I wanted to hear my words was the man sitting in the back row, smiling. But the words meant for him, I would not say today. 

He knew I was innocent. I knew he wasn’t. We were once business partners and best friends who trusted each other completely. Then greed rewrote our lives forever. 

I could have cursed him and condemned him to hell, but my daughter was watching, her eyes filled with tears. I said, “I love you, baby. I’m sorry for letting you down. Take care of your mother.”

I pointed toward the back of the courtroom. “One day, you will remember every word I did not say.” His smile vanished as the gavel fell; mine would return twelve years later in a hospice. 

II. Release

I forged the documents that sent him to prison for my embezzlement, and he lost his family, career, reputation, and freedom. Twelve years later, he received an early release to treat his terminal cancer. He called me yesterday and asked me to come see him in the hospice where he was staying. 

Cancer had robbed him of his health, but not his kindness. He smiled when he saw me and extended his hand. I held it and gently squeezed. “I’m glad to see you,” he whispered weakly. “I know what you did, and I forgive you.” His smile drooped and his eyes fluttered; he took a deep breath and lay still. 

I expected accusations and curses; he gave me mercy with his dying breath, and I hate him for it. I have no place to hide from myself anymore, and living with myself is a life sentence worse than death. 

III. Peace 

I knew the truth all along, and the detectives had their doubts, but my forged signature on the documents was enough to put me behind bars and keep me there.  

Prison took twelve long years of my life; cancer would take the rest. Doctors gave me zero chance of survival, and in its infinite mercy, the state gave me a compassionate release. 

I watched him walk into my hospice room with uncertain steps, and he trembled when I smiled at him. He took my hand and squeezed it gently.

“I’m glad to see you,” I whispered. “I know what you did, and I forgive you.” His eyes darkened with something deeper than fear. 

I made my peace. I released my burden. My time has come. I take a deep breath, close my weary eyes, and walk free, releasing him to serve the sentence of guilt he had earned long ago. 

*****

Three movements of 150 words each