Chapter 2: The Three Years They Stole From Me   

Dana’s POV

“Dana.” Her voice is thin through the receiver and cracked, like it’s been sitting unused too long. “Baby.”  

I swallow hard. “Mom.” 

The Rikers visitation room smells like bleach and burnt coffee and the cheap soap they make us use. 

Rows of booths made out of glass line the wall with metal stools bolted to the floor, and phones with cords too short to reach your lap.  

My mom, Ruth Sosa, sits on the other side.  

She looks older than three years should make anyone. Hair grayer at the temples. Coat too big, like she bought it at a thrift store and it still swallows her. Her hands visibly tremble around the handset.  

I sit and pick up the phone. The plastic is warm from whoever used it before me.  

She touches the glass with her palm first, I place mine afterwards to match hers. 

For a second neither of us speaks like there was nothing to say. Like always…  

Then she does.  

“Dana, I’m sorry. I tried to keep it–”  

“Keep what, Mom?” I cut her off before she could continue through her stiffened sobs. “What happened? What aren’t you saying?”  

I really don’t know what is happening, but whatever that thing is… it's seriously breaking her.

I haven't seen her cry like this since I lost my dad

“It’s gone,” she says. “All of it. While you were… while you were inside.”  

"What's gone?"

“The studio closed year one,” she continues. “They said there were legal fees and outstanding debts. I don’t know, Dana. The letters came and I didn’t understand half of them. By the time I got a lawyer it was already sold.”  

My jaw tightens and I'm obviously shaking. “The lease was paid for eighteen months. I checked before I… before.”  

“My studio?!”

“I know, baby. I know.” She grips the handset harder. “And the estate… Your father’s estate. It’s sold too, Dana. I signed nothing. I swear to God on your father’s grave, I signed nothing and the deed wasn’t in our name anymore. Three years, baby. They took three years of your life and they took everything else too.”  

Three years.

Three f*cking years!

The thought doesn’t just come all at once. It clicked into place.  

TOVAR GROUP LEGAL DIVISION.

“Mom,” I say quietly. “Was it Tovar Group?”  

She hesitates, trying to get her voice back after minutes of sobbing. 

“I don’t know the name, Dana. Some big firm downtown. The papers said Tovar something. I couldn’t read it all, I was shaking too bad.”  

I nod and then let out a terrifying laugh that made the guard behind me shift.

I lean forward sobbing. “Mom, I thought you forgot about me.”  

“I thought after the court… after Jade woke up and said my name… I thought you didn’t want to see me. You weren’t even at the sentencing.”  

“I was there, baby. Every day.” Her voice breaks. “They wouldn’t let me see you after. They said it was better if I stayed away. That it would hurt your case. That it would–” She stops. Swallows. “That it would make things worse.”  

Someone has gotten to her.

She reads my face. “Dana? What is it?”  

“Nothing.” I lie because asking her to say the truth or wanting to know if she has been threatened won’t help. “So… Tell me about Jade.”  

She wipes her eye with the back of her hand. “She woke up seven months ago from her coma.” she paused. 

“And she left the country”

I close my eyes for one second.  

The flashback of the courtroom comes back.  

Fluorescents, wood panels and the smell of old paper and sweat hit harder now than then.

I’m in the box on my orange jumpsuit with no makeup. Hair cut short because prison doesn’t care about vanity.  

Jade’s on a screen on the hospital bed, tubes in her nose, eyes half open. Skin the color of paper and me…

Probably thinking that all of this will be over as soon as Jade responds to the prosecutor. 

The Prosecutor leans in. “Ms. Kellerman, who did this to you?”  

Jade’s lips moved slowly, cracked, dry and managed to say one word…  

“Dana.”  

The entire courtroom gasps. Then the gavel does what it does best.  

“Let the record show the victim has identified Dana Sosa as her attacker.”  

My lawyer, Priya’s predecessor, stands. “Objection. The victim is medicated, non-verbal, and the audio recording is unavailable due to technical malfunction—”  

Judge: “Overruled. The jury will weigh the evidence.”  

They weighed it and they found me guilty.  

The flashback ends. The room snaps back and the bleach smell hits me again. 

My mom is still talking. “Dana, listen to me. You have to fight this. You have to–”  

“How, mom?” My voice is low and controlled, but if paid attention to… it's breaking. That’s Dana for you. I don’t scream, I catalog. “I have no lawyer, no money, no studio, no house and the one person who has done all this… He’s roaming around free.

Mateo.  

My mom's eyes widen. “Mateo? Mateo Tovar? Dana, is he–”  

“He’s why I’m here,” I say. 

The guard bangs his baton against the doorframe. “Time. Thirty seconds.”  

Ruth panics. “Dana, baby, please. I don’t know what to do. The apartment is small. It’s two rooms and the rent is–”  

“Mom. Just Stop.” I press my palm to the glass. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. Don’t sign to anything from now on. Don’t talk to anyone from Tovar Group. Do you understand me?”  

She nods, tears falling now. “I understand.”  

“Good.” I mirror her. Palm to palm through the glass. “Three years, Mom.”  

I say it out loud because saying it makes it real.  

“Three years they took. Three years I won’t get back and now they’re trying to take the rest.”  

Ruth sobs. “I’m so sorry.”  

“Don’t be sorry.” My voice is steel. “Be ready, because when I’m out now, I’m going to deal with whoever has a hand in this.”  

The guard steps in. “Time’s up, Ms. Sosa.”