"Saturday. I'll be counting the hours."
"Me too. I love—" He caught himself. We tried not to say it on monitored calls. Tried to keep something private. "I'll see you soon."
"Soon," I agreed. "Take care of yourself."
"You too. Stay safe."
The call ended. I hung up the phone and walked back to my cell, already counting down to tomorrow's call.
***
Saturdays were everything.
I lived for visiting days. Counted down the hours until Valentino would walk through that door.
The visiting room wasn't what people saw in movies—no glass partitions, no phones, no barriers. Just an open room withsmall tables and chairs. Vending machines. Guards stationed around the perimeter.
When Valentino walked in, I stood. He crossed to me and we were allowed to hug—briefly, five seconds max, the guard watching. But those five seconds were everything. The feel of him in my arms. The smell of his shampoo. Real. Solid. Mine.
Then we sat at one of the tables. I reached across and took his hands. The guards didn't stop us from holding hands. Small mercy.
"You look tired," I said, studying his face. He had shadows under his eyes. "Are you sleeping?"
"Not great. But I'm managing." He squeezed my hands. "You look better than last week. Less pale."
"They make us go outside for rec time. I'm getting sun whether I want it or not." I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles. "How's work?"
"Busy. Stefan has me running three campaigns simultaneously. It's exhausting but good. Keeps my mind occupied."
"Good. That's good." I hated that he looked so tired. Hated that I couldn't hold him properly. Couldn't take him home and put him to bed and make sure he actually slept.
"Are you taking care of yourself?" he asked. "Eating enough?"
"Kitchen detail means I eat pretty well. Better than most inmates." I tried to smile. "I'm behaving perfectly. Model prisoner. Trying to make sure I get that early release."
"I know you are. And you will." His eyes were fierce. "You're coming home to me."
"I'm coming home to you," I agreed. "Six more months and I'm eligible. Six more months."
We talked for the full thirty minutes. Never enough. When the guard announced visiting hours were ending, I wanted torage. Wanted to refuse. Wanted to hold onto Valentino and never let go.
Instead, I stood. He stood. We hugged one more time.
"I love you," he whispered against my shoulder.
"I love you too. Drive safe."
Then I had to watch him walk away. Had to go back to my cell while he drove home to freedom. The unfairness never got easier.
But only six more months. We could survive six more months.
***
Six months into my sentence, I was called to the warden's office.
My stomach dropped. Being called to the warden meant trouble. Or news. Neither was usually good in prison.
I walked in to find my case manager there as well. They gestured for me to sit.
