Sometimes she included photographs.
I watched my daughter grow taller through pieces of paper.
During the first two years, visits were possible occasionally.
Then, after changes to my housing restrictions and repeated scheduling problems, I went nearly three years without holding her.
I learned to recognize the passing seasons through the pictures Leah mailed.
Chloe’s hair grew longer.
Her handwriting became neater.
Her smile began to resemble mine.
But I could never hear her laughter through a photograph.
Every night, I told myself I had to survive long enough to hold her again.
I filed appeals.
I wrote letters to legal organizations.
I asked anyone willing to listen to examine Arthur’s unfinished investigation.
Most never answered.
Others said there was nothing they could do.
Eventually, the courts set an execution date.
November 17.
Six o’clock in the evening.
I memorized those details because they became the boundaries of my remaining life.
