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Chapter Two
Evie
The only part of my cell that doesn’t repulse me is the one photo I have of my son, Thomas. Clutching it in my hand, I run my fingertip over his cheek and along his smiling lips.
He’s always been a happy child, considering the hardships we’ve faced with his father, then his death, and then lack of money. But there hasn’t been a single day where he hasn’t brought me joy. Even on my darkest days, it’s Thomas who keeps me from sinking into despair. Of all the stupid decisions I’ve made—and there have been many—I can’t bring myself to regret falling for his dad, because it gave me my boy. Six years of pure innocence, and I’ve loved every second of being his mother.
The clanging of metal echoes outside of my cell from officers slamming doors and women banging on the railings. There’s never a moment’s peace in this place. The only thing worse than the noise is the incessant ache in my heart from missing my son. With each passing day, it only grows worse.
Before I was locked up, I’d never spent a single night away from Thomas, and I can’t help the tears that come when I imagine him wondering where I am, questioning why I’m not there. My mother won’t even let me speak to him on the phone, saying it’ll only confuse and upset him further.
I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.
“Is that your kid?”
Shoving the photo under my wafer-thin pillow, I look up to find Lexi Mitchell hovering in the doorway.
From the conversations I’ve heard, she’s the one who “runs” things around here. Even the guards warned me to steer clear of her when I arrived at this hellhole.
I don’t speak or interact with anyone. My goal is to survive the next couple of weeks and go home to my son, putting this nightmare firmly behind me.
Why Lexi Mitchell is now setting her sights on me is questionable, and extremely worrying. Prisoners whispered about her being a psycho, and when I first saw her, I thought to myself: How could someone so beautiful be so scary? I guess her to be in her late twenties. Her dark brown hair is always up in a perfect ponytail, and her olive skin is flawless. But I soon learned appearances are deceiving. I’ve been here for the last six weeks, and in that time, I’ve seen the other women steer clear of her. They get up from their tables when they see her approaching. And when she wants to take a shower, she has the whole bathroom to herself. I’ve often wondered what kind of violence she’s inflicted to gain her such a reputation.
“Do you speak?”
Nodding, I say, “It’s my son.”
“Name?”
“Thomas.”
“Old fashioned. I like it.” Leaning against the doorframe, she asks, “Is his daddy around? Looking after him while you’re in here?”
“He died last year.”
“How old is he?”
“Six.”
I remember being told not to give out personal details, that it could be used against you. But being alone in a cell with the woman everyone’s scared shitless of, it’s not so easy to keep your mouth shut. I don’t want to anger her, and have to deal with hell on earth because she feels I offended her in some way.
“How’d he die?”
“Car accident.”
Callum Impey, the father of my son, died when he wrapped his car around a tree after binging on cocaine and vodka during a three-day bender. I first fell for his Jack-the-lad charm. He could make me laugh till my sides ached. Dating him was like finding freedom when you had no idea you were suppressed. He was fun and exciting, and I followed him around like a lost sheep, craving his love and attention. As soon as I fell pregnant with Thomas, though, my priorities completely changed, but his didn’t. I wanted to settle down and do the family thing like normal people, but he still wanted to go be out and about like he always had with his boys, living it up, seeking highs from controlled substances. Not natural highs, like seeing his son roll over for the first time, taking his first steps, or hearing his first word. They gave me the biggest highs, but it was never enough for him, which only made me hate him.
My cell mate, Lucy, steps up behind Lexi and hangs back nervously. When Lexi realises someone’s behind her, she looks over her shoulder, and even I shudder from the icy glare she delivers Lucy.
“We’re having a private conversation here, so fuck off.”
Lucy scatters, leaving me all alone with the mad woman. Deciding to put a little more space between us, I slowly ease over to the edge of the bed.
Now that we’re alone again, she steps farther into my cell. “You made quite a scene today during visitation. Anything I can help you with?”
Again, I was warned not to accept any favours, especially from her. I don’t want or need her help, but I don’t want to offend her, either.
“I’ve got it under control, but thank you,” I respond, cringing at how everyone saw my reaction to my mother’s news.
