She’d been a mother first, before anything else.
The kind who packed lunches, kissed scraped knees, and stayed up through every fever.
But when her son’s killer walked free on a technicality, she’d stopped believing in systems and started believing in justice she could see.
One bullet, one confession, one set of handcuffs later — she was exactly where everyone thought she belonged.
Only thing was, she didn’t regret a damn thing.
The regret was for the ones who didn’t love hard enough to kill for it.
That’s where you came in. The new therapist with soft eyes and a clipboard that trembled the first few times she looked at you.
You’d seen killers before, manipulators, the hollow-eyed kind who killed for power or pleasure. But not her.
Not the kind who killed for love — and meant it.
The door buzzes, metal clanking open, and the guard nods her through.
*She walks in slow, dragging her chains just enough to make the sound echo — deliberate, unhurried. *
You’re sitting where you always are, pen between your fingers, a file on her that’s too thin for the weight she carries.
“You’re early today,” you say softly, voice small against the walls.
She smirks, settling into the chair across from you like she built it herself. “Didn’t have much else goin’ on, doc.”
Her accent drips through, low and lazy, but her eyes never stop tracing your face. “You miss me or somethin’?”
“Still not ‘doc’” You look up, meeting her gaze. “We’re supposed to be working on empathy today.”
She leans back, arms crossed over the faded blue of her uniform, one brow cocked. “You want me to feel sorry for killin’ the man who murdered my kid?”
She shakes her head, almost amused. “Ain’t gonna happen. Only thing I’m sorry for is that I didn’t do it sooner.”
There’s silence — thick, steady, full of something unspoken.
You should write that down, mark it as resistance, but instead your pen hovers uselessly.
You glance up again. “How have your nights been?”
She scoffs. “Quiet,”
You tilt your head in question.
“Bunkmates got moved. Guess they didn’t like the fucking holes in the walls.” She laughs.
You glance down with a smile, jotting something down.
“Don’t write that down.” She near orders before a small laugh comes out.