I received a 25-year prison sentence for a crime I didn’t commit. My husband stood beside his pregnant mistress while my mother-in-law pretended to cry. I calmly revealed one secret. The officers froze, and the prosecutor shouted, “Stop the transfer!”

I sat on the edge of the bed until dawn.

Then, just before ten, the guards arrived.

“Eleanor Vance. It’s time.”

I stood.

The transfer corridor smelled of disinfectant.

Officers checked the paperwork while I waited near the observation room.

Then I saw Silas.

He’d come to witness my departure.

Of course he had.

He couldn’t resist one last opportunity to feel victorious.

Our eyes met through the glass.

He smiled.

I didn’t.

A supervising official entered carrying a folder.

“Before this transfer proceeds, we need to address new information concerning a previously unresolved disappearance.”

Silas’s smile faltered.

“What information?”

I stepped toward the microphone.

“Clara Thorne.”

His face changed.

The official looked at me.

“Please repeat the information you provided yesterday.”

I did.

I described the farm outside Lexington.

The old storage building.

The records Clara had discovered.

The belongings Beatrice admitted she’d kept.

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