Ваша оценкаI never claimed to be a saint. But it wasn’t until I found myself in cuffs that I learned the damage I was capable of. The only sunshine on those gray prison days came in the form of letters from a hopeful teenager with a quick wit.
But the letters weren’t addressed to me. They were meant for my bastard cellmate, who’d sooner toss them on the floor with the rest of his trash.
So, I picked them up, read them, and wrote back, signing each letter, Love, Dad.
For four years, I kept up the lie, telli...
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