“You’re getting married?”
“On paper, that’s all.”
“To a man in prison?”
“Of course.”
“Yes.”
“You sold yourself to keep me in school?”
“I did it to keep a roof over our heads.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
His anger softened into something worse.
“I can get a job.”
“You sold yourself to keep me in school?”
“You are finishing school, Owen. That’s what matters.”
“Sadie, please.”
“No. You graduate. You get out. And you become someone no rich woman can price.”
He looked away first.
That’s how I knew he understood.
***
The wedding happened behind scratched glass.
Jonah sat across from me in a beige prison uniform, thin and tired-eyed.
He looked away first.
“You don’t have to pretend I’m a good man,” he said.
“Good, because I’m not that generous.”
I expected anger, coldness, or arrogance.
