Chapter 17 - The Visiting RoomIn November, fifteen months after his conviction, Teresa drove three hours east to Huntsville to visit Rodrigo.
The prison visiting room was a bleak, whitewashed hall smelling of industrial floor wax and stale coffee. Heavy iron doors slammed with a dull, echoing metallic thud every few minutes as guards shuffled inmates in and out.
When Rodrigo was led to the metal table across from her, Teresa barely recognized him.
The heavy, soft frame he had carried at the ranch was gone, replaced by lean, hard muscle earned through hours of manual labor in the prison yard. His dark hair was shaved close to his scalp, and his eyes—once wild, paranoid, and arrogant—were subdued, quiet, and deeply weary.
He sat down without a word, placing his calloused hands palms-down on the Formica table.
"Hello, Mom," he said quietly. His voice had lost its sharp, slurred edge.
"Hello, Rodrigo," Teresa replied, placing her hand near his, though the prison rules forbade them from embracing. "How are you holding up?"
"I work in the laundry unit five days a week," Rodrigo said, looking down at his knuckles. "And I started taking anger management and literacy tutoring classes in the evenings. The chaplain gave me some books on agriculture management."
Teresa nodded slowly, observing the subtle shifts in her son's posture. "And your mind?"
Rodrigo looked up, his eyes meeting hers with an honesty she hadn't seen in over a decade.
"At first... for the first six months... I hated you, Mom," he admitted softly, his throat working as he swallowed. "I sat in my cell every night cursing your name, telling myself you chose a stranger over your own blood. I told myself I was the victim."
Teresa remained silent, letting him speak.
"Then I started reading the court records Victoria sent over during the appeal waiver," Rodrigo continued, tears brimming in his eyes. "Reading what Mariana said... reading what I did in my own handwriting in that ledger... it was like looking at a monster. I realized then that if you hadn't come back that afternoon, if you hadn't opened that coop door... I would have killed her eventually. Or she would have died in that heat."
He pulled his hands back, pressing his palms against his face as a quiet, shuddering sob escaped his chest.
"You didn't destroy our family, Mom," Rodrigo choked out. "You saved me from becoming a murderer."
Teresa reached across the table, breaking the rule, and wrapped her firm, warm hand around his wrist.
May you like
"The road to making things right is long, Rodrigo," she said softly but firmly. "You have twenty years ahead of you in this place. Use every single day to burn away the man you were, so that when you walk out those gates, you can look your father's memory in the eye."
Rodrigo nodded weeping, gripping his mother's hand tightly as the guard stepped forward to call time.
