Mother, We Have No Future

It was the fifth year of my sentence.

My mother came to visit me for the first time.

She was a legendary defense attorney, a name known across the country. She was also the key witness who had personally put me behind bars.

We picked up the phones, separated by a thick pane of shatterproof glass. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she asked how Id been all these years.

I told her calmly that everything was fine.

Just as the visit was ending, she suddenly said, Anya, Mom bought you a house in Seacliff. When you get out in three days, we can start over.

I managed a small smile but didn't answer.

There was no starting over for us.

She didn't know that to grant a final wish for a cellmate dying of cancer, I had helped her end the pain.

The price for that mercy was my own life. Id been sentenced to death.

The execution was in three days.

1

A bitter draft snaked through the bars of the window, chilling the visitors room. The only sound was the low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

My mother pulled a sheaf of documents from her bag and pressed them against the glass.

Anya Macqueen, this is the deed to the house. Its in your name.

And this, she added, her finger tapping another paper, is a letter of recommendation for the art school you always dreamed of. Ive already taken care of everything.

She glanced at me, her expression a familiar mix of authority and expectation. It was her habit to arrange my life.

When you get out, you should go abroad for a while, lay low until people forget about that incident. Then you can come back

I nodded, offering a few polite, empty words.

Seeing that our time was almost up, I hung up the phone and stood to leave.

As I turned, my mother shot up from her chair, her hands slapping against the glass. Anya, are you still angry with me?

It doesnt matter anymore.

I took a few steps back, putting more distance between us. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

Ms. Macqueen, youre a public figure. You should mind your image. I let a cool smile touch my lips. We wouldnt want your colleagues to get the wrong idea.

As I walked away, I thought I heard her cry out, but the soundproofing was too good. I couldnt make out the words.

A cold sweat had soaked through my prison uniform, making the fabric cling unpleasantly to my skin. I casually rolled up the damp sleeve. Under the dim, flickering lights, the network of pale scars on my wrist stood out in stark reliefsouvenirs from a time I had tried to end it all myself.

I paused, a strange thought occurring to me. Seeing my mother today, on the fifth anniversary of my incarceration, I felt none of the burning hatred Id expected, none of the hysterical rage that had consumed me in the beginning.

I just felt nothing. As if I were looking at a stranger.

Back in my cell block, the guard had already unlocked the heavy iron door. I pulled my sleeve down and walked toward my bunk.

Brenda, the convicted murderer who slept below me, gave me a complicated look. Youre back, kid? I helped pack your things. She gestured to a small cardboard box. See if theres anything you wanna keep. The rest you can just toss. Start fresh, you know?

I opened the box. Lying right on top was a fountain pen my mother had given me before I was sent away.

Engraved on its side were the words: To my beloved daughter, Anya.

Brendas interest was piqued. She leaned over for a closer look. Hey, from your mom? Looks expensive. She mustve really doted on you.

Her eyes scanned the inscription. When she saw the familiar signature engraved below it, she froze. Her voice trembled.

Eleanor Macqueen?

You mean the Eleanor Macqueen? The Iron Lady of the courtroom?

Her voice rose with each question, a crescendo of disbelief. The top lawyer who never lost a case, who put countless powerful men behind bars?!

Brendas gaze shifted to me, now filled with utter shock and confusion. Anya with a mom that powerful, how in the hell did you end up in here?

I tossed the pen into the trash bin. My voice was quiet.

Because I am her daughter.

The daughter she had framed with false testimony to protect her own immaculate reputation.

2

As Brenda kept pressing, I sank onto the cold concrete floor and told her the story of my mother and me.

In the beginning, my mother wasn't a legal legend. She was just an intern at a law firm, a single mother with a child in tow, fetching coffee and making copies.

No connections, no husband. The man who was my father had thrown us out like trash.

The northern winters were brutal, the cold sharp enough to cut skin. I remember my mother in a thin blazer, holding me as we shivered under a concrete overpass. I knew she was starving, so I went and begged for a piece of bread, pushing it into her mouth.

From that rock bottom, an astonishing strength ignited within her.

My mother was reborn.

At thirty, she won the industry's most prestigious award. By thirty-five, she was a partner at her firm. At forty, a case she handled became a national sensation, and accolades poured in.

The same man who had kicked us out came crawling back, begging for a reconciliation.

She stood before him, her expression like ice, and slapped a lawsuit into his hands.

I keep a perfect record of who was good to me and who kicked me when I was down, she said, her voice dangerously low. From this day on, Anya and I have nothing to do with you. I will give my daughter the best life imaginable, and no one will ever hurt her again.

From then on, her career skyrocketed, but she never left me behind. No matter how busy she was, she always carved out time for me. When I was applying to college, she turned down a multi-million dollar case to help me study. When I was looking for a job, she called in every favor to pave my way.

I worried I was holding her back, that I was a burden.

But she would just look at me and say, Anya, back in that snowstorm, if it wasnt for that half a bagel you gave me, I would have given up. From that moment, I swore I would give you the world. You are my life, Anya. No matter how high I fly, you will always be my only weakness.

That was the kind of person she was. Her principles were ironclad.

Once she made up her mind, she saw it through to the end.

It was true in the courtroom.

It was true in how she raised me.

And it was true when she sacrificed her own daughter for the sake of her so-called justice.

Sacrificed you? Brendas eyes widened in disbelief. You two were all each other had. With a bond that deep, shed still send you to prison? What in Gods name did you do? Kill someone? Burn down a building? Were you running a drug cartel like in the movies?

None of the above.

The crime that put me here was aggravated assault.

The year I turned twenty-two, my mother was an unshakeable titan in the legal world. She was no longer satisfied with winning corporate cases. She began pouring her energy into what she called social justice.

She didnt care for money or power. What she craved, with an almost fanatical devotion, was her reputation.

It didnt matter if you were a billionaire or a politician. If you broke the law, my mother would take you on and send you to jail.

Her proudest achievement was her carefully crafted image of absolute impartiality.

This integrity is what put me at the top of my field, shed often say. The law is blind. Everyone is equal before it. Even my own family must face punishment if they do wrong. There can be no exceptions, not a single grain of sand in the gears of justice.

She said she loved the law.

But I think she loved the feeling of holding peoples fates in her hands even more. In the theater of the courtroom, she was God.

Guilty or innocent, life or death.

She decided.

I never really understood her grand speeches. But one day, Kevin, a scholarship student my mother was mentoring, looked up from his books with shining eyes.

Ms. Macqueen is right. I admire that kind of spirit, he said. Justice shouldnt depend on who you know. Its about having a clear conscience. Look how well I did in the mock trial today. Its all thanks to her guidance.

That summer, under the incessant drone of cicadas, my fate began to turn.

3

After that, my mother started bringing Kevin home often. Shed tutor him, run him through debate simulations. Our sprawling villa practically became his second home. Their bond grew closer and closer, almost like that of a mother and son.

Then one day, she suggested he move in with us.

His family has no money, and the dorms are a terrible environment for studying. Let him stay here while he prepares for the bar exam.

Kevin nervously fiddled with the cheap ballpoint pen in his hands. He forced a strained, eager smile onto his dark, earnest face.

Anya, I promise Ill be quiet. Im a good student, and I swear Ill repay Ms. Macqueen for her kindness. If youll just give me a chance, Ill do anything to thank you both!

Looking into his seemingly sincere eyes, I was suddenly reminded of my mother holding me under that overpass all those years ago.

Helpless. Desperate.

My heart softened once again.

For a long time, I treated Kevin like a little brother. I cooked for him, bought him books, and taught him how to navigate the city. He called me big sis and told me I was the kindest person in the world. He promised that when he became a great lawyer, hed protect me for the rest of his life.

And he didnt disappoint my mother. He passed the bar exam with flying colors.

On the stormy night we celebrated, he climbed into my bed.

My mother was out of town on business. Id bought wine and food to celebrate with him. By midnight, my head was spinning, and I passed out on the sofa.

When I woke up, it was to his predatory face looming over me.

And a tearing, searing pain through my body.

In that instant, my world shattered.

I fought back, clawing and screaming, grabbing the heavy ashtray from the nightstand and smashing it against his head. I sent the plates and glasses on the table crashing to the floor.

Kevin clutched his bleeding forehead, his eyes cold as he watched me struggle.

Cut the act, Anya, he sneered. Your moms not home. Who are you trying to seduce, dressed like that?

Given the choice between his future and my innocence, he chose to destroy me without a second thought.

I couldnt bear it. I called the police. Then, sobbing, I called my mother.

She rushed back overnight, her brow furrowed as she took in my disheveled state.

Anya, calm down. If this gets out, it will ruin your reputation.

Kevin immediately dropped to his knees in front of her. Ms. Macqueen, I know I wronged Anya, but I was drunk! She was the one coming on to me, I just I lost control for a moment. Youre the best lawyer there is! I have a bright future ahead of me, you cant let a small thing like this ruin it! If you help me this one time, Ill be like a real son to you for the rest of my life!

I was only twenty-two. Still young enough to believe in justice, to believe my mother would fight for me.

I pressed charges. I wanted to see that monster locked away.

But reality quickly taught me a brutal lesson.

To demonstrate her unwavering impartiality, my mother recused herself from my case and became a witness for the defense.

In court, she stood on the witness stand, dressed in her sharp suit, her face an emotionless mask.

This is my daughter, she stated to the court. Her personal life has always been promiscuous. I urge the members of the jury to look at the facts objectively. Kevin is a good, honest young man. On the night in question, to my knowledge, it was Anya who invited him to drink with her. I dont deny that Kevin made a mistake, but in my view, this was a tragedy sparked by seduction, and instead of reflecting on her own actions, Anya grievously injured him.

She even testified that I had expressed a romantic interest in Kevin on multiple occasions.

She knew her words were destroying me.

She just didn't care.

All that mattered was preserving her saintly image in this high-profile case, even if it meant sacrificing her own flesh and blood.

And what about me?

What was I?

Sitting at the plaintiffs table, I wept in disbelief. My ears were ringing with the contemptuous whispers from the gallery.