Entrapped by love- never trust a stranger

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I inhaled deeply, savoring the brief taste of freedom as I stood in the prison yard. The fresh air was a luxury, something I could only get for a few minutes each day. Inside my cell, it felt like I was constantly suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on me. Out here, though it was still a cage, at least I could breathe.

Betsy jogged up to me, her short, coarse hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. In one hand, she held a worn volleyball, the leather peeling from years of use. Her eyes were filled with concern, and I knew the question was coming before she even opened her mouth.

"Mel, you wanna play?" she asked, tossing the ball lightly from hand to hand.

Normally, I'd jump at the chance to escape my thoughts, even if it was just by playing a game with the other inmates. But today, I needed space. I needed to think. My mind was a storm, and I couldn't shake the meeting with my lawyer from earlier that day.

"No," I said quietly, my voice barely audible over the sound of the wind rustling through the chain-link fences. "I'm gonna do some laps, try to clear my head."

Betsy gave me a long look, her brow furrowing with worry. "You sure? You've been... off all day. And I know it's 'cause of that lawyer meeting. I'm your friend, Mel. You can talk to me."

I clenched my fists, trying to steady myself. I didn't want to talk. Not yet. "Later, Betsy. I promise. I'll tell you later."

She hesitated, clearly wanting to press, but eventually nodded. "Alright. But don't push me off forever. I'm worried about you, girl."

I gave her a weak smile, though it didn't reach my eyes, and jogged off across the yard. The cold air stung my lungs, but it was a relief compared to the staleness of the cell. My thoughts raced, and no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't outrun the conversation from earlier.

The lawyer had sat across from me, his suit perfectly pressed, his hair slicked back with the kind of precision that suggested a life of ease. He didn't belong here—none of them did, not in this world of concrete and bars. I remember searching his eyes for hope, for something, anything to cling to. But what I saw was indifference.

"Melanie," he had said in that smooth, practiced tone of his, "I'm afraid there's not much we can do with your appeal. There's no new evidence, no technicalities to exploit. The original trial—" He paused, then sighed, as if the weight of it was too much even for him. "It was solid. Ironclad."

I felt like the floor had opened up beneath me. "But... but there were mistakes," I had stammered, my voice cracking. "The witnesses lied! And the evidence was—"

He had held up a hand, stopping me. "I know you believe that, Melanie. But without new evidence, the court won't reconsider. And I have to be honest with you. Your mother can't afford to keep paying me. So I'm going to have to withdraw from the case."

The words echoed in my head as I ran, faster and faster, trying to outrun the pain. My lungs burned, but I didn't care. Tears blurred my vision, but I kept going, desperate to release the anger that had been festering for years. I wiped at my face, refusing to let the other inmates see me cry. In here, weakness was a death sentence.

I darted past a group of women who were playing cards near the fence. Abigail Lawrence, a hulking figure with cruel eyes, watched me closely as I passed. I could feel her gaze on me, a predator assessing its prey. She had always been trouble, ever since I arrived. She had a reputation, one that kept even the hardest inmates at a distance. Abigail had killed two people—one of them her own mother. If it weren't for Betsy's protection, I had no doubt Abigail would have made my life hell from the very beginning.