It had been a solid year since I was sentenced. Halfway there I thought.
Marjorie popped by one Sunday afternoon, and she wasn’t alone. In her arms was a grey‑and‑white tabby cat, blinking slow and sweet like it owned the place. How she managed to get a cat past prison security was beyond me—either the guards were asleep at the wheel, or she’d charmed the hell out of them. Probably the latter.
But I wasn’t about to complain. Not when I got to see her—my beautiful, soon‑to‑be wife. Every time she walked through those gates, some part of me believed in the future again.
I could finally imagine growing old with her. Maybe even raising a child or two. I’d always held onto the thought of a son named Jacob, or a daughter named Emily. The names lived in my head long before I earned the right
