Two years after release, Ral had settled into routine that resembled life if you didn't look too closely. Wake at five, warehouse shift by six, home by three, evening alone in apartment reading or watching TV. Weekly dinners with Maya. Monthly meetings with parole officer. Simple existence designed to avoid attention and minimize chances of violating parole conditions.
"We need to talk about something," Maya said during their weekly dinner. She looked nervous, which was unusual. Maya had faced down federal prosecutors and prison violence without showing fear.
"What's wrong?" Ral asked.
"Nothing's wrong exactly. I met someone. His name is David. He's a teacher. We've been seeing each other for three months."
Ral absorbed this information slowly. Maya having relationship meant she was bu
