The drive to the prison felt longer than it should have. Every red light lingered like it was testing my patience, and every turn seemed to pull me deeper into something I couldn't escape from. Joonseo had offered to come with me, but I told him no. This was my fight.
When I arrived, the guards checked my ID, scanned my bag, and led me down a long hallway. The air was cold, sterile, and smelled faintly of disinfectant. My footsteps echoed against the tiled floor, each one heavier than the last.
We reached the visitation room—a narrow, dimly lit space lined with booths separated by thick, scratched glass. The chairs on my side were metal, bolted to the floor. I sat down, trying to calm my breathing. My fingers drummed against the steel tabletop.
Then I saw her.
