And in that moment, everything inside me froze.
I stood outside the faded blue house in East Los Angeles where I had grown up—the same house I had dreamed about during every sleepless night in prison.
For two years inside California Institution for Women, I imagined this exact moment.
The smell of my mother’s coffee.
My father calling me “princess” again.
My older brother Ryan hugging me and telling me the nightmare was finally over.
Instead, I stood outside listening to my family discuss how quickly they could get rid of me.
