Yet no one produced proof that I had taken anything.
My defense attorney challenged the evidence and questioned the prosecution’s theory.
But the physical evidence appeared overwhelming.
The jury convicted me.
The sentence was death.
When the judge announced it, I didn’t scream.
I simply turned toward the back of the courtroom.
Leah was sitting there with Chloe on her lap.
My daughter was only three years old.
She didn’t understand what had happened.
She waved when our eyes met.
I tried to wave back.
But a guard was already guiding me through the courtroom door.
That was the last time Chloe saw me outside a prison.
For the next five years, my world became a collection of locked doors, steel bars, and scheduled visits.
Leah became Chloe’s guardian.
She sent drawings whenever the prison permitted correspondence.
She told me about Chloe losing her first tooth, learning to ride a bicycle, and starting school.
