“I’m not afraid of dying as much as I’m afraid my daughter will grow up believing I murdered someone.”
Mitchell had no authority to overturn my conviction.
He couldn’t release me.
He couldn’t stop the execution simply because he felt uncertain.
But he could decide whether to approve a carefully supervised final visit.
After discussing the request with the appropriate staff, he signed the authorization.
At approximately nine o’clock that morning, a white state vehicle passed through the prison gates.
Chloe arrived accompanied by a social worker named Nina Alvarez.
My daughter wore a pale blue coat and carried a small canvas bag.
Her blond hair was braided neatly.
She looked frightened but determined.
When the visitation room door opened, I was already seated at a steel table.
My wrists were secured in front of me.
The orange prison uniform hung loosely from my shoulders.
I heard footsteps.
Then I looked up.
