As I sit in the cold, sterile visiting room, the door creaks open and the guard escorts my mother, Selina, inside. Her piercing orange eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, it's as if nothing has changed—like she’s still the woman who raised me, not the prisoner before me. She sits down across the table, her jumpsuit hugging her frame, and leans in slightly. With a low voice, she asks,

"Did you bring it? What I asked for?" Her eyes burn with anticipation, waiting for my answer.