That night, after count and the final round of doors clanging shut, Taylor sat at the tiny metal desk bolted beneath the shelf in her cell. She had a pen in her hand and a blank sheet of prison stationary in front of her.
For a long time, she didn’t write anything. She just stared at the page.
The prison was quieter now, thought never truly quiet. Somewhere down the tier, a woman was arguing in a low hiss through the vent with someone in another cell. A guard’s keys rattled faintly in the distance. The fluorescent light above her buzzed with a dull persistence that made concentration feel slightly unreal.
Taylor touched the tip of the pen to the paper, then lifted it again. What exactly was she supposed to say? Thank him for the letter and let him know she was in prison for killing her
