The sound of women screaming and banging on their cell doors rattles me. It's like walking through canon fire, but I try to keep my composure. I stare ahead, acutely aware of the two guards tightening their grips on my arms as they lead me towards solitary. It's for my own protection. That's what the judge said. It was part of my deal - to confess to the murder of my children, to tell the judge and prosecutor every sordid detail and gruesome fact about what happened on the night of December 3rd, 2014. Do this, and I would be put in solitary, guaranteed, for the rest of my life. There is only one problem: it's a lie. All of it. My children are dead, yes, but I didn't kill them. I know who did. She is the reason my husband is dead. She took my children. She's coming for me. That's why I wanted inside Woolark Penitentiary. There are guards at every door, cameras around every corner. I want to believe she won't be able to reach me. I have to - but I know eventually she'll weasel her way in. A heavy door opens at the end of the bay and I'm led through a corridor with flickering lights and mold crawling up the walls. I can hear a woman sobbing somewhere down the hall, but through another door and another I'm brought into a small cramped cell with rubber padding on the wall and a rusting toilet in the corner. My guard closes the door behind me and for a moment I breath easily. I'm free. Free from her, from them and the mistake I made. I move towards my bed and lay down. The cot creaks under my weight, but as I put my head down on a thin folded blanket I hear something crunch underneath. My hand slides underneath and I find I find a small wad of trash hidden there. I pull it out and instantly want to vomit. A crumpled Polaroid rests in my hand, only a portion ripped out of the original picture. I am in the center, surrounded by smiling faces. At least I think it's me. The eyes are scratched out.

They're going to kill me tonight. I have to get out.