Chapter 1
It was my fifth year in prison.
My mom came to visit me for the first time.
She was a renowned attorney, famous across the country, and the very person who testified against me and sent me to prison herself.
We picked up the phones, separated by thick, bulletproof glass.
Her eyes were rimmed with tears as she asked, "How have you been holding up all these years?"
I answered calmly, "I'm doing fine."
As the visit was about to end, she suddenly spoke up, "Alison, I bought you an apartment in Riverside.
"When you get out in three days, we can start over."
I smiled without replying.
There was no way we could start over.
She didn't know that I'd helped my cellmate, who was dying and in pain, find peace.
Because of that, I got the death sentence.
My execution was set for three days from now.
*****
A chilled wind seeped in through the cracks of the barred window.
The visitation room was silent now, except for the electric hum of the intercom.
Mom pulled a stack of documents from her bag and pressed them against the glass.
She said, "Alison, here's the deed to the apartment. It's in your name.
"And this is a recommendation letter for the art school you've always wanted to attend. I've taken care of everything."
She pointed at the documents, then looked over at me out of habit.
That was just like her. Always in control. Always deciding things for me.
She went on, "Once you're out, go abroad for a while. Keep a low profile. Come back when all of this has blown over."
I nodded and gave a polite, empty reply.
Seeing our time was almost up, I hung up the phone and started to stand.
As I stood up, Mom suddenly knocked anxiously on the glass, her voice trembling with emotion.
She asked, "Alison, do you still hate me?"
"There's no need."
I stepped back, putting some distance between us.
I said calmly, "Ms. Shaw, you should think about your reputation.
"Wouldn't want your fellow lawyers getting the wrong idea."
As I turned to leave, Mom cried out after me, her voice breaking with tears.
The thick glass made it a blur. I couldn't make out the words.
My prison uniform was drenched in cold sweat.
It clung stickily to my skin.
I just rolled up my damp sleeves without thinking.
Under the dim light, faint old scars showed on my wrists—from the time I tried to cut them.
I froze for a moment, then it hit me.
Today marked my fifth year in prison.
When I saw Mom, I didn't feel the hatred I thought I would. I didn't feel the panic from my first days there.
I felt nothing, just calm, like I was staring at a stranger.
When I got back to my cell, the guard had already unlocked the steel door.
I pulled my sleeves down and headed to my bunk.
Sandra Walker, in for murder, was on the lower bunk. She gave me a knowing, complicated smile.
She said, "Kiddo, you're back. I went through your things.
"Take a look if you want—see if there's anything you'd still like to keep. Whatever's left, I'll get rid of it all. Consider it... a clean departure."
I opened up my box, and right on top was a fountain pen Mom had given me before I got sent there.
Large letters were engraved on the side.
They read: [To my beloved daughter, Alison.]
Sandra perked up with interest.
She leaned in and said, "Wow, your mom gave you this? Looks pretty fancy. She must've really cared about you."
She couldn't wait to check out the engraving on the pen.
But when she saw the familiar inscription, she froze in place.
Her voice was shaking. "Margaret Shaw?
"Wait, your mom's the legendary Iron Lady of the courtroom?
"The undefeated lawyer who sent a ton of power players behind bars?"
Sandra looked at me, her expression suddenly full of shock and disbelief.
She asked, "Alison, seriously, how in the world does someone with a mother like that end up in a place like this?"
I tossed the pen into the trash and said, keeping my voice steady, "Because I'm her daughter."
Her own flesh and blood—the one she personally put behind bars, just to keep her hands clean and her reputation spotless. She took the stand herself and lied, all to avoid the scandal.