Epilogue

Plinio's POV:

“Today marks our last therapy session, Mr. Murray,” my prison psychologist, Dr. Sean Evans, says with a hint of honor masked by his usual placid tone. 

“And you still can’t call me Plinio or Nio as I have asked you a hundred times already,” I smile, shaking my head. 

The first session was in the first week of my three-year sentence. I was handcuffed, and my legs were chained to the hooks on the floor. Two officers were standing outside, and one was behind my psychologist. In this very room, I was asked several questions to be diagnosed with any kind of mental illness. But, I was neither suicidal nor dangerous nor depressed; in fact, I was quite content, I still am. I have had the lowest number of sessions among all the inmates. And, now, no metal is holding me in place, and only one