My parents sent me to prison for three years for a miscarriage I didn’t cause—“One

The years I spent in prison were a blur of monotony and seething anger. Every day was a reminder of the injustice I’d faced, the betrayal by the people who should have protected me. I built walls around my heart, fortified with memories of Dylan’s smug smile and Nora’s feigned fragility. The pain of being wrongfully accused burned like a brand, etching itself deeper into my soul with each passing day.

I kept to myself, avoiding trouble, counting the days until I could reclaim my life. The other inmates knew better than to pry; there was something in my eyes, I suppose, that warned them to keep their distance. I learned to navigate the ins and outs of prison life, but I never let it become a part of me. I held on to the truth like a lifeline, the only thing that kept me from drowning in bitterness.

Then, one day, my unwavering resolve was rewarded. A guard called my name, saying a visitor from a law firm had arrived. I almost ignored the summons, assuming it was another ploy from my family. But curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself in the sterile visitation room, facing a young woman with determined eyes.