I did not know he had a gun.
That distinction mattered to me.
It did not matter much in court.
Someone got hurt.
Nobody died.
But a clerk suffered a serious injury when Cole struck him.
Cole took a deal.
He testified that I knew everything.
I did not have money for a good attorney.
My public defender tried.
It was not enough.
I received fourteen years.
I served eleven.
I spent the first three years angry.
The next three blaming Cole.
Then blaming my family.
Then myself.
Eventually, there was nothing left to blame.
Only time.
My daughter, Lily, had been six when I entered prison.
She was seventeen when I got out.
For the first two years, my mother brought her to visit.
Then the visits became less frequent.
Then they stopped.
Letters came back unopened.
Phone calls went unanswered.
Eventually, my mother sent one letter.
Only one.
