I look at the photo of her again. It’s the same one I have been staring at for twenty-two years. I had it in all of my years in prison. I had it when I was happily mated to Amber. And I have it now while sitting at my desk.
“Daddy,” My son Calder calls to me. “Daddy,” He calls again.
“I’m in here, Calder,” I respond.
My five-year-old son runs into the office with his favorite stuffed bear. He looks like his mother, Amber. Amber died shortly after giving birth to Calder, leaving me alone to raise our son. “Daddy, I saw Mommy in my dreams,” Calder sings while I pull him onto my lap.
“Did you now?” I ask gently.
“Who is that, Daddy?” Calder points to the picture I had been looking at.
I pick it up and bring it closer. “That Calder is the woman I loved before your Mommy. Her name is K
