Seven Years A Prisoner Wife

rah' s world. The window looked out onto a beautiful garden that the groundskeeper tended, a world of vibrant life she could see but never touch. The physical depri

uldn't even read them. He would take the papers from her hand and, with a calm, deliberate motion, tear them into small pieces, letting them fall to the floor like confetti at a funeral. Other times,

ke over and over, searching for a single moment where she could have changed the outcome, but she always came up empty. She was innocent, yet she wore the guilt like a heavy cloak. To keep her mind from breaking, she would dream of bu

e'd found her sitting alone in the garden while Emily held court with her friends. He had silently handed her a piece of strawberry candy, given her a small, shy smile, and walked away

ed everywhere instead of taking the bus, adding the saved fare to her secret stash. She ate the simplest food-vegetable soup made from peels and ends, day-old bread. Once, she came down with a terrible fever, her body wracked with chill