The harsh clang of the prison gates echoed through the cold stone walls as Emma walked nervously down the corridor, her hands trembling, clutching her purse tight to her chest. It was visiting day at Ridgewell Correctional Facility, and she had made the long drive alone to see the man she once called her everything.
Inside the visiting room, the steel table and fixed chairs offered little comfort. But none of that mattered when Roger finally stepped through the door in his grey uniform, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her.
Emma stood up quickly, rushing over and wrapping her arms around him. Her voice cracked as she held back tears.
“Oh, Roger… forty years?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Forty years… how did it come to this?”
Roger gave her a soft, resigned smile, the kind that tried to comfort even when there were no right words.
“My love,” he said gently, “what are you going to do?”
She looked up at him, confused.
“I mean,” he added with a weak chuckle, “I’ve got my days figured out. I get three meals, a routine, a library, and a little metal bed with my name on it. But you—you have the whole world out there. You’re the one with freedom.”
Emma stared at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. She hadn’t expected him to be the one comforting her.
“I’m not free, Roger,” she said quietly. “Not without you.”
He reached out and took her hand, sliding his fingers between hers.
“You are,” he said firmly. “You have to be. I’ll carry these forty years, but I need you to carry on. For me.”
They sat in silence for a moment, surrounded by the murmur of other visitors, the hum of old fluorescent lights overhead. Emma squeezed his hand and nodded.
“I’ll write. I’ll visit. I’ll live,” she said. “But I’ll be waiting for you—every day.”
Roger smiled, eyes glistening with something close to hope.
And in that quiet, heavy room, filled with loss and locked doors, two people chose to hold on to love—not as a way to escape time, but as a way to survive it.