JAXSON.
The ride to the prison felt shorter than it really was, maybe because my head wouldn’t stop spinning.
When we pulled up at the prison gates, I let out a slow breath and rubbed my palms against my jeans. My hands were restless. My whole body felt weird. One step closer. That was all I kept repeating to myself.
We got out of the car and walked through the security checkpoint. Officers walked past us with blank expressions, and for a moment I wondered how many stories they had tucked away behind their eyes, how many truths they had heard and ignored.
We were taken to the visiting room, and as soon as I stepped inside, I saw John.
He was already seated at one of the tables, two officers standing behind him. His hands were cuffed. His shoulders looked tense. But when he saw us, his
