Chapter 1 - DON’T TAKE HIM AWAY
“DADDY!”
The baby’s scream cut through the visitation room so sharply that every person behind the glass turned their head.
Ethan Cole froze.
His one-year-old daughter, Rosie, had both tiny palms pressed against the thick glass separating them.
She didn’t understand prison.
She didn’t understand locks, uniforms, courtrooms, or why her father had disappeared from her life before she could even learn to say his name.
She only knew the man on the other side of the glass was Daddy.
And she wanted him.
“Hey, baby girl.”
Ethan lifted his hand and pressed it against hers.
Glass between them.
Cold.
Hard.
Unforgiving.
Rosie slapped her palm against his and giggled.
Then she leaned forward and kissed the glass.
Ethan’s smile broke.
He looked away quickly.
His wife, Claire, saw it.
“Don’t,” she whispered into the phone mounted beside the window.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t hide from me.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re crying.”
Ethan laughed once, but there was nothing funny in the sound.
“Nah. Bad lighting.”
Claire smiled through tears.
“You’re still a terrible liar.”
Rosie started bouncing in Claire’s lap.
“Da-da! Da-da!”
Ethan closed his eyes.
For twelve months, he had imagined hearing that word.
Not through a phone.
Not through six inches of reinforced glass.
He had imagined hearing it at home.
Maybe while making pancakes.
Maybe while sitting on the couch.
Maybe while carrying Rosie down the hallway after she refused to sleep.
Normal things.
Stupid little normal things people never appreciated until someone took them away.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Rosie reached harder.
Her little fingers slid uselessly across the glass.
She frowned.
Then she looked at Claire, confused.
Why wouldn’t Daddy pick her up?
Claire swallowed.
“She keeps reaching for you at home.”
Ethan stared at her.
“What?”
“When she sees your picture.”
Claire’s voice cracked.
“She grabs it and says ‘Dada.’ Every morning.”
Ethan pressed his fist against his mouth.
That did it.
The tears came.
Rosie saw them.
Her smile disappeared.
She touched the glass gently.
“Dada?”
“I’m okay, baby.”
He nodded quickly.
“Daddy’s okay.”
A correctional officer stepped behind Ethan.
“Cole.”
Ethan ignored him.
“Cole. Visit’s over.”
His face changed.
“No. I got twenty minutes left.”
“Not anymore.”
Claire sat straighter.
“What’s happening?”
Ethan turned.
Officer Knox stood behind him.
Big guy. Gray mustache. Face like a locked door.
“I didn’t do anything.”
Knox grabbed Ethan’s arm.
“Stand up.”
Rosie started crying.
“No, no, no.”
Ethan pulled toward the glass.
“Please. Just give me thirty seconds.”
“Move.”
“My daughter’s scared.”
“Cole.”
“Thirty seconds!”
Knox tightened his grip.
Claire stood, holding Rosie.
“Why are you taking him?”
“Ma’am, sit down.”
“Tell me what’s happening!”
Rosie screamed louder.
“DADDY!”
Ethan twisted around as Knox pulled him toward the exit.
“Rosie!”
The baby reached over Claire’s shoulder.
“DADA!”
Ethan fought against every instinct in his body.
He wanted to run back.
He wanted to smash the glass.
He wanted to grab his little girl and never let anyone put a wall between them again.
Instead, he let Knox drag him away.
Because one wrong move inside Graystone Correctional could add five years to a man’s life.
Right before the steel door closed, Ethan heard Claire shout his name.
Then the door slammed.
Silence.
Ethan stared at Knox.
“What the hell is this?”
Knox didn’t answer.
He marched Ethan down a narrow hallway.
They passed the route back to his cellblock.
Then they passed medical.
Then the disciplinary wing.
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
“Where are we going?”
Still nothing.
Finally, Knox stopped outside a room Ethan had never been inside before.
Two men in suits were waiting.
So was the prison warden.
And on the table sat a sealed brown envelope.
The warden looked Ethan straight in the eye.
“Mr. Cole,” he said, “we need to talk about the night you killed Marcus Reed.”
Ethan went cold.
Because Marcus Reed wasn’t the man Ethan had killed.
May you like
Marcus Reed was the man Ethan had been sent to prison for killing.
And Ethan had spent three years trying to prove the difference.
