My father passed away a year ago, Michael, and this house is no longer yours,” Grace said without fully opening the door. “So don’t put on your ex-con act. Leave before I call the police.”
I’d been free for exactly three hours.
I had walked out of state prison that morning carrying an old backpack, a borrowed jacket, and a heart so tight it still felt wrapped in prison bars. For three years, I had replayed the same scene in my mind: me ringing the doorbell at the house in
