With Love from the Inside by Angela Pisel

herself helped. She closed her eyes and shook her head, but old memories crept in and refused to go away. Pushing themselves into her presence, not allowing her to fight back.
    Thanksgiving Day when she was ten years old popped into her mind. Sophie in her twin bed, in her pink room, under her purple polka–dotted comforter. Protected and safe. Her puppy asleep beside her. She could hear her mom in the kitchen, opening and shutting the oven door, the smell of homemade sweet bread all around her. The mixer made a rhythmic clank as it hit the sides of a pan while she whipped the potatoes and added “just a smidgen” of cream cheese.
    Sophie heard a marching band on TV right before her dad yelled, “Wake up, sleeping beauty, the parade is about to start.” She could hear his footsteps moving closer to her door. He stopped long enough to taste the baked macaroni and cheese. “Creamy enough?” her mom asked.
    She saw them all sitting around their small, oval breakfast table eating on disposable plates decorated with giant brown turkeys (less cleanup, more time together, her mother told her), holding hands while her father said grace. “Thank you, Lord, for all we have. Our chairs are full and our hearts are grateful.” William slapped the tray of his high chair while their mom fed him small bites of applesauce. This was one of the rare days when he giggled like a normal baby, one that didn’t throw up all his food and spend his days being shuttled between medical appointments. Sophie wished she had more memories like that.
    Sophie took some deep breaths and tried to count to ten. How long had it been since she allowed herself to revisit these moments she could never get back?
    â€”
    â€œL ET ’ S GRAB THE PAPER from your husband,” Margaret said to Caroline as Sophie walked back into the kitchen. “I want to see if Macy’s is putting their Coach bags on sale.”
    As they followed her into the living room, Carter saw them and put down the first section. “He deserves to fry,” Carter said, referring to the headline on the front page. Sophie read the bold print over his shoulder: “Walter Mayberry to Be Executed at Lakeland Penitentiary.”
    That’s the prison my mom is in.
    Something lodged in her chest.
    â€œEye for an eye,” Carter continued, as though he was giving closing arguments in front of a jury. “The man killed young girls as a recreational activity. Murdered in his spare time. The world is better off without this scumbag.” Margaret covered Vivianne’s ears.
    â€œCalm down, Johnnie Cochran, this is your day off,” teased Caroline as she tried to grab the sales flyers from him.
    â€œWrong side of the courtroom,” Carter served back. “I don’t defend people, sweet pea. I lock them up and throw away the key.” He tossed a pretend key over his shoulder and swiped his hands together, his imaginary victory won.
    â€œBaby-killer next on the chopping block,” Sophie heard him say just before her world turned black and her head hit the floor.

GRACE
    My cell door unlocked right on time. All the doors on the cell block did except Roni’s. I’m not sure what she did this time to lose privileges, but it must have been something. I could hear Jada counting her steps in her cell. “One, two, three, four, turn. One, two, three, four, turn.”
    â€œYou coming?” I said to her as I walked past.
    She ignored me, so I took a seat at the metal picnic table and started shuffling through the stack of magazines. Ms. Liz collected old publications from her women’s group at church and brought them to us once a month. All different kinds, from crossword puzzles to
Consumer Reports
, had one thing in common—the one-by-three-inch rectangle cut out of the bottom right corner of each front cover.
    Ms. Liz was my spiritual adviser, and we usually met at least once a week, but it had been a