Page 20 of The Price of My Sins

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a frustrated grunt. I motioned toward the notepad on the side table. He grabbed it, handed it to me with a pen, and stood back as I scribbled one name: Bo.

He read it, and I watched his eyes narrow and jaw clench. Then, he chuckled. That low, dangerous chuckle always meant something wicked was brewing. “I swear, I can’t stand thisnigga.” He leaned over the bed, his detective badge hanging from his neck as his low voice pierced me like sharp, broken glass. “Let me handle this shit from here. You heal… It’s time to shake some shit up.”

I wrote one more word on the pad and turned it toward him. When?

Uncle Otis smirked. “Soon. I got some folks watching him already. I let him think he walked away clean all these years. When he least expects it, we’ll hit him where it hurts. And Olivia?” He shrugged. “Collateral damage.”

I shook my head as I wrote on the notepad before showing him. No. She doesn’t get touched yet. I want her for myself.

“Nigga, you just like your daddy—pussy whipped. I’m going to tell you like I told my brother… love will get you killed. Look at you… laid up in this hospital over some bitch. Get yourself together. Let that hoe go, and let that shit go. I keep telling you… them text messages won’t hold up in court. If anything, it will get your dumb ass life along with her.”

Uncle Otis stood tall, adjusting his gold watch, then gave me a look that sent a chill through the room. “Focus on healing, nephew,” he said. “I’ll handle the rest.” With that, he left my room, leaving me to my thoughts.

When I found out Olivia was messing around with Bo, I didn’t waste any time. I went straight to my Uncle Otis.He’s a detective over at the 73rd Precinct in Brownsville. I asked him to run Bo’s plate, get his full name, and run a background check. I thought I’d get a rap sheet, maybe a few priors, anything I could use. Instead, I got flipped everything.

It turns out that Bo’s mother was married to my father. She was currently serving a twenty-five-year bid for killing him. I didn’t care about any of that shit. My so-called father walked out on my mother before I ever took my first breath. He never called, nor came around for birthdays or holidays. That nigga nevergave a damn. So, as far as I’m concerned, he can rot wherever he landed after they zipped him up.

But Uncle Otis? That’s a different story. He took his brother’s death personally. I understood since that was his blood. And even though twenty years passed, he never let it go. He said the whole situation never sat right with him, and now, war had been declared. The clock was ticking for Bo and Olivia, and he had no idea the storm that was coming.

Idrove up Route 9, the tires humming against the asphalt, each mile stretching longer than the last. The trees, with their thin branches just starting to show green, passed by like blurred memories. The hills of upstate New York, all rocky, felt like they were closing in on me, pressing in from every side, reminding me of where I was headed.

Bedford Hills Correctional Facility.

The name alone felt like a weight pressing into my chest. It’s not that I didn’t know where I was going; I’d made this trip countless times, but each visit somehow made the reality feel sharper and more raw.

I pulled into the parking lot, the same grim lot with cracked pavement and the same dull red building looming ahead. Most of the visitors here were either nervous, angry, or both. For me, I didn’t even know what I felt anymore. It was easier when I was younger. The guilt used to gnaw at me in waves, but after twenty years, it had settled into something more subtle, like a wound that had healed over but still ached when the weather changed.

I shut off the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the facility’s high fences, the razor wire glinting in the sun. It was quiet now, the early morning sun cutting through the branches of the trees, but inside those walls, nothing was ever quiet.

I stepped out of the car, my feet hitting the ground with a hollow thud. I grabbed the plastic bag with the food my grandmother had prepared. Prison food was a joke, but I’d gotten into the habit of bringing my mother a taste of the outside world. Rather, it was the latest magazines that my grandmother sent, or words of wisdom.

The walk to the entrance was always the hardest. Every time I made this trip, the closer I got to our meeting place, the harder it was to breathe. I wasn’t sure if it was the air inside the facility or the weight of the past that always seemed to get heavier every time I returned.

The guards checked my ID, and the usual cold smile of the officer at the desk didn’t make me feel any better. She didn’t say anything as she handed me the visitor’s pass and pointed toward the door, her eyes already darting back to the screen in front of her. I walked down the long hallway, my footsteps echoing against the walls. The sound was too loud for my mental, and it always felt like the walls were closing in with each step.

The door swung open, and there she was. My heart lurched. Even at fifty-two, she looked good—damn good. She was now shapely, which was a far cry from the frail woman she was when she walked in here. She stepped into the room, her braids falling neatly down her back. The dark strands caught the light in a way that made her look regal, even in the dull orange jumpsuit.

She smiled when she saw me, her eyes lighting up like the way the sun breaks through dark clouds. But there was something in that smile that was weary and hard to read. I stood up as she made her way toward me, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were just two people in the world again. Mother and son, before all of what happened made her a prisoner and me an orphan.

“Look at you…” she said, her voice soft and sweet like honey, but carrying a sharpness that made me pause. “Are youeating right? Taking your meds?” She sat down across from me, her gaze intent, scanning my face like she was searching for something hidden.

“Mama, I’m fine.” I chuckled, trying to brush it off. She asked me the same things every time.

Her eyes narrowed, studying me. “You don’t look fine. I mean, yeah… physically, you’re fine. But something’s off. Talk to me, son.” Her face had the same gentleness I remembered as a kid, but there were lines now. Tiny cracks on the mask she’d worn to protect us all were visible.

“Stop worrying, woman. I’m straight. Are they treating you good in here?”

“Boy, I’m good. Stop it. How’s Olivia? I noticed over the last couple of weeks on our calls that you haven’t spoken of her, or she hadn’t been at your house. Did you two have a fight?”

My mother knew all about Olivia. They even spoke over the phone. Them meeting wasn’t intentional, though. One night, O was at my house when she called, and my nosy mama heard her in the background talking on the phone with her best friend, Lexi. She demanded to speak with my lady friend, as she called her, and they immediately hit it off. It came to a point where my mother would call Olivia without my knowledge.

“Nah. Shit is complicated.” I ran my hand down my face.

“What did you do? Did you cheat on her? I may not have raised you on the outside these past twenty years, but I talked to you about being a good man and how to respect yourself and women.”

“Mama, it’s not like that. I already explained to you the situation between me and O. You’re the one that put it in your head that we were more than what it was.”

My mother was fully aware of what was going on between Olivia and me. Yet, in her eyes, Olivia was still considered herdaughter-in-law despite the fact that she was already involved with someone else.

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