The guard slapped a piece of paper on the cold metal counter and shoved a pen into my hand. “Ahem.” He cleared the phlegm from his throat while he poked at the paper.
Tucking the wild strands of hair behind my ears, I eyed it with suspicion.
“Sign here.” His abrupt demeanor was expected. I was a number, another woman without value.
“What’s this?” Squinting to read the fine print, it stated I was signing for my worldly goods. Goods that had not been returned to me. Without a signature, would they keep my stuff? If I refused, would they incarcerate me again?
Frustrated that I had so easily reverted to the scared girl, I shook my uncertainty off. What could they do to me that hadn’t been done?
I had learned some valuable lessons in prison. Trust a few, fear the rest. Nope, there was no room in my life for the frightened, unsure Mickey of my past. I pushed the paper away in defiance. Firming my stance, I prepped for a confrontation.
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