Page 12 of Glass Wings

I need you to know why. I wasn’t looking for a fight. I wasn’t looking for trouble. I was trying to stop someone from hurting Kennedy. I swear on my life that’s the truth. But the second he swung at me, I forgot everything I promised you. I forgot restraint. I forgot the future we were supposed to have.

I don’t expect forgiveness. God knows I haven’t earned it. But I’m begging you, Harley, don’t shut me out. Don’t let this mistake erase us. Please answer my call, I need to hear your voice. I need to know you’re still in this fight with me.

I love you, Harley.

Easton

I hurl the pen against the wall, the clatter echoing too loudly in the suffocating cell. My fists clench, then release, then clench again as I pace, trying to bleed off the rage building inside me. She hasn’t answered my calls. She hasn’t answered my first letter. And the chance of her answering a second feels smaller than the four walls closing in on me.

The guard barely flinched at my outburst. He’s seen worse. Instead, he slides an envelope through the slot with a quiet nod.

“Thank you,” I mutter, my eyes catching on the return address before I even tear it open. Harley’s handwriting. Her name.

I devour the scribbled words, each line cutting deeper until my knees give out beneath me. The paper trembles in my hands as the weight of it hits.

She’s pregnant.

The words blur and reform with every reread. Pregnant. Our baby. My chest squeezes until I can’t breathe. I’m going to be a father, and the first thing I’ll be giving my child is a father with a record. A future shadowed by my mistakes.

I press the paper to my forehead, choking back a sound I don’t recognize. All I wanted was to do the right thing. To protect. And somehow, life has twisted that into another punishment. Another chain for me to wrap around the people I love.

By the time the guard speaks again, I’ve read Harley’s letter so many times the words are burned into my skull.

“I need the pen back, Easton.”

I force myself to my feet, the letter still clenched in one hand and pass him the pen along with the single page I’d managed to scrawl in reply. Short. Desperate. A plea scratched in ink.

He takes them carefully, his voice low, almost human. “I’m not supposed to be friendly with inmates. But whatever’s going on … it’ll get better.”

I swallow hard, doubt a lump in my throat. “I hope so.”

Six

HARLEY

April 10th

Easton,

By now you’ve gotten my letter. This isn’t how I ever wanted to tell you. I used to imagine the day I’d surprise you with the news of a baby, something joyful and so unforgettable. Because I always knew you’d be a good father. The best. But instead of giving you that moment, I’m writing these words from a place I never thought we’d be again. You took that from me.

I know you thought you had to protect Kennedy. But after he hit you, you didn’t have to hit back. That one choice changed everything. And now I’m the one left trying to carry us both, and this baby, while you’re locked away.

Kennedy is furious. Not just at what happened, but because she sees what it’s already cost. She keeps saying this baby will be born out of wedlock. That you won’t be here for me through the pregnancy. That no one knows how long it will be before you’re out again. She’s terrified time will change you, that prison will take something from you I can’t get back.

I never cared about marriage licenses or “wedlock” until now. But being pregnant has made me see it differently. I don’t want to be alone in this. I don’t want to be a single mother. I don’t want to explain to our child why their father wasn’t there when they were younger.

I’m scared, Easton. More than I’ve ever been. I wasn’t ready for this. I still don’t feel ready. My therapist says the fear is normal, but it doesn’t stop it from eating me alive. I struggle every day with food, with the weight gain, with the voice in my head that says I’m not enough, not healthy enough, not strong enough to do this. I force myself to eat for the baby, even when I don’t want to.

Inside the envelope is the first ultrasound picture. Look at it and know this child is real, ours, waiting for us. But right now, I can’t listen to your voice. I’m not ready. So please … stop calling.

—Harley

I slip the ultrasound photo and letter into the envelope, smooth the seal with trembling fingers, and press a small stamp into the corner. The weight of it feels heavier than paper has any right to be. Carefully, I scrawl the prison’s address across the front, then my own beneath it. Each letter is a reminder of just how far Easton feels from me now.

I tuck the envelope into my bag, setting a reminder on my phone to drop it at the post office later. Even the thought of letting it go makes my stomach twist. Once it’s mailed, there’s no taking the words back.

Kennedy is supposed to stop by soon. She insisted on keeping me company, said it isn’t good for me to be alone too much these days. She worries, even more than I do sometimes, ever since Easton told her about my eating disorder a few years back. He’d confided in her after one of my worst relapses, when he couldn’t be home because of work. She never forgot it. And now, with everything happening, she hovers like a constant shadow. Over the years she’s become protective and anxious over me, making sure I don’t slip too far into old habits.