Redemption Song

Karen flew to Aspen. She had no idea what to expect. As she walked through the jail toward her husband's cell, a guard told her, "It's none of my business, but this one is worth saving."

At the time, she brushed past the comment — she already knew she wanted to save him — but she says it became very important to her in later years, because he was the first person to show Ken any compassion.

When she got there, Ken was in a suicide cell, curled in a fetal position.

Standing there, watching him, it seemed to Karen, six months pregnant, that Ken had forgotten he was ever a husband or a father. He crawled into her lap and started to sob.

Lamberton was sent back to Arizona and charged with custodial interference, a class two felony, and contributing to the delinquency of a minor, a misdemeanor.

His mother posted bail, and he moved into her house in Tucson, where he continued to obsess about Gregan.

"Kelly my only love, I write to you never knowing if you'll read my words, never knowing if I'll ever see you again," he wrote in a letter he mailed to Gregan's home. "They have already done the worst to me they can. They have taken away my love, you Kelly."

He wrote that he would wait by the phone every night at 10 p.m., waiting for her call. In the same letter, he wrote that he didn't want to be with his wife or family; he only wanted to be by Gregan's side.

He wanted to die. He recalls telling his attorney, "You might as well have me executed."

Lamberton's troubles worsened. The charge against him changed to child molestation after it became apparent he'd had sex with Gregan. His attorney, a public defender, negotiated him a plea bargain: 12 years behind bars.

Even the investigating police officer, Terrance Wesbrock, told the court it was too much. "At that time and now I believe that the sentence Mr. Lamberton received was excessively harsh given the facts and circumstances of the offense," he wrote in an affidavit. "This is the only case in my career as a law enforcement officer where the disposition of the defendant has bothered me as being excessively harsh."

Life was tough for Ken in jail, but at least he had a sense of stability, no matter how grim. He also had plenty of time to think and sort out his feelings.

Not Karen. Her house never sold, and the bank foreclosed. She had no education beyond high school; her husband was a sex offender and an adulterer. She was furious with Ken, but her religion kept her from divorce. And she had two small daughters, plus a newborn.

Beyond her religion, something more kept Karen with Ken.

"In a sense it was sheer stubbornness. I. Am. Not. Moving," she says, pausing to emphasize each word. "Once I realized Ken was in no state to protect himself, and that what was really attacking us was outside, I was like, I will stand here and I will not let this get to my kids."

Lamberton says it was his daughter Melissa's birth, just before he went to prison, that made him want to be a husband and father again. He chokes up when he talks about that day at the hospital. He spent so much time in Karen's room, looking at the baby and crying, even the nurses thought it was a bit weird.

"It's a hard thing to even think about. I was with her the whole day and for me it just seemed like such a momentary thing," he says. "Karen says she had to keep telling the nurses 'This is all right, this is okay.' I just remember being there and looking at her."

Four months later, Lamberton reported to the Pinal County Jail for his 12-year sentence.

Karen went on welfare and tried to come up with a coping strategy.

The first thing to go in her household was excessive rules.

"One of my rules for children in crisis is you must allow messes," she says. "One, for your own sanity, and also, because children are creative, and they learn brainstorming when they make messes. One of the things about being in prison is a lack of ability to brainstorm."

Her efforts paid off. Today, all three girls attend the University of Arizona. Melissa, the youngest, even got into Harvard (on a full ride), but turned it down to stay close to the family. None of the three women remembers feeling poor when they were kids.

"We kind of considered ourselves middle-class," says Jessica, 23. "Even still, we're not really that. But she made sure we were dressed in, if not brand new clothes, at least in nice clothes. It's just something in your head."

Karen took the girls to see Ken every chance she got. No matter how angry she got with Ken, she kept him in their lives. She snuck their homework into visitation so that he could help them, and made sure to mail their report cards to him so that he could sign off on them.