NotSoWickedIgboWoman

My chat with Michael made me see things in a completely new light. It struck me that he must have been part of something fishy, as there was no reason for me to get arrested at his place without an explanation from him. Initially, I believed he was the victim, and by extension, I was too. But learning that he actively contributed to my predicament was a real shocker. Now, I couldn't help but wonder why he was suddenly appearing in my life again. Was it another scheme to pull me into a mess I had no hand in, or was it a belated sense of guilt after 15 years? Either way, if it was guilt, it felt like it had arrived way too late – 15 years too late. I moved through the rest of the day absentmindedly, and as I did this, I was unaware that lurking around the corner was an impending catastrophe. A couple of hours after my encounter with Michael, we were all piling into dinning hall for lunch. I walked absentmindedly in the lines of fellow inmates adorned in our orange apparel. My tray h

I ignored his greetings as I sat down on the chair and leaned back, trying to look as tough as possible. He stared at me, a little bit frightened, as he took his seat. We locked eyes, and I refused to back down from the staring contest. He cowered and said, "You look good, Brenda." I threw my head back and laughed like a maniac, attracting stares from fellow prisoners and their visiting families. "I look good? Michael? Me? Good? Well, I guess orange is my color and it makes the brown in my eyes pop," I said with sarcasm. Coming from someone who let me rot in jail, your compliments mean jack shit to me. I hope you have a good reason for being here today, Michael," I said, leaning very close to him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact. "Brenda, I... I heard there is a way we could shorten your sentence," he stammered, glancing around nervously. "We? We? Michael, who the hell is 'we'?" He winced, sitting as far aw