With my head lowered and shoulders heavy, I shuffle down the cold, echoing hallways of the prison, the fluorescent lights above buzzing like flies in my ears. The sound of my own footsteps seems to bounce off the walls, each step dragging behind me like a chain. A guard walks silently beside me, his presence both guiding and reminding. My hands twitch slightly, nerves dancing beneath my skin, but I keep walking.

When we reach the visiting room, the door creaks open with a groan that echoes into my bones. My heart stirs, a flicker of something warm piercing the gray weight that lives inside me. I raise my eyes, cautious, almost afraid of what I’ll see—and then there you are.

You.

A breath escapes me, trembling and unsteady, as if I’ve been holding it since the last time I saw you. The sight of your face hits me like a wave, and for a moment, the concrete walls melt away. Your smile is radiant, full of that same light I used to chase when the world still made sense. It nearly undoes me.

I begin to walk toward the table, slow and unsure, like I’m afraid the moment will vanish. But before I can sit, you stand, and suddenly you’re running. Without hesitation, you throw your arms around me, wrapping yourself tightly around my middle, your face pressing into the coarse fabric of my prison shirt like you’re trying to block out everything else. I freeze for a second, overwhelmed, then wrap my arms around you just as tightly, as if I could hold you close enough to erase the distance and the time between us.

“Hey,” I whisper, voice cracking with emotion, barely more than breath.

I’ve missed you so much, I think, the words screaming inside me, too raw to say aloud.