The light began to fade gradually until there was nothing left. But the warmth remained, and the scent of roses. Jennifer sat on the bed, trembling, the rosary clutched tightly between her fingers. She had seen something, something impossible, something she couldn’t explain. But she had seen it.
At five in the morning, when the guard came for rounds, she stopped in front of Jennifer’s cell. “Walsh, why does your cell smell like flowers?”
Jennifer looked at her, said nothing, just gave a faint smile. The guard frowned, confused, but moved on.
Seven in the morning, breakfast time. Jennifer ate mechanically. The other inmates looked at her with pity, with respect, with sadness. But Jennifer was serene. There was something about her that no one could understand, a peace that made no sense considering what was about to happen.
At eight o’clock, they came to get her for the final preparations. Jennifer walked calmly. She answered the questions they asked. She signed the papers they put in front of her. All with that same inexplicable calm.
Nine o’clock. Margaret Foster, a tough woman who had worked in the prison system for twenty-five years, was reviewing the final documents when her phone rang.
“Director Foster.” She listened. Her face changed. From professional to shocked. “When did this…? Yes, yes, I understand. Stop everything. Stop everything immediately.”
She hung up and practically ran to where Jennifer was waiting.
“Jennifer,” she said, out of breath. “Something happened.”
Jennifer looked at her calmly.
“A nurse from the hospital just came forward to the police department. Catherine Morris. She was on duty the night Robert passed away.” Jennifer’s heart began to beat faster. “She confessed everything. She was the one who administered the wrong medication, by mistake. She got scared and tampered with the records to blame you. She brought documents. Evidence.”
Jennifer couldn’t process the words. “Why?” was all she managed to ask. “Why confess now?”
Margaret shook her head. “She said that last night she had an emotional breakdown, that she couldn’t live with the guilt any longer, that something made her realize she couldn’t let you—” She stopped.
“Well?”
“She confessed everything. Last night.”
The same night as the apparition. Jennifer held the rosary in her pocket. “What does this mean?”
“It means,” Margaret said, and for the first time in her entire career her voice faltered, “that your sentence will be suspended immediately. The case will be reopened. With the confession and the evidence she brought, you will be exonerated. It’s a matter of time. A matter of days. But you are innocent, Jennifer. You always were.”
The world stopped. Six years. And now, so close to the end, Jennifer collapsed. Her legs gave out, and she sat on the floor, holding the rosary, crying silently.
Margaret knelt beside her. “Jennifer, are you okay?”
Jennifer nodded yes, unable to speak.
In the two weeks that followed, the case was officially reopened. The judge reviewed Catherine Morris’ confession and all the evidence she presented. The prosecution validated the documents. Hearings were held. And finally, twenty days after that morning, Jennifer walked through the gates as a free woman.
Emily and Aunt Linda were waiting outside. When Emily saw Jennifer, she ran, without caring about anything, without hesitation. “Mom!”
The hug was long, tight, real.
“I knew it,” Emily cried. “I knew she was going to save you.”..
