Love Letters To Inmates Novels & Stories

She could feel the story pressing out from within its pages like steam from a kettle. The note taped to the front simply read: “For the ones who never got to speak.” She opened it carefully. Inside were letters—dozens of them. Unsent, unaddressed, written in smudged ink and trembling handwriting. Some dated back five years. Others were recent. Some were addressed to mothers. Others to daughters. Lovers. Teachers. Abusers. To “the man who sat next to me on the train.” To “the father who never came back.” To “me, when I was fifteen.”

"By the time you read this letter, I'm sure you have received the divorce papers. I know you probably wouldn't care about what I left for you, going as far as to feel repelled by it. "But this is all I can give you. And besides you, I don't know who else to give all this to. "As I write this letter, I realize how lonely I am. I'm stuck in prison, but no one is waiting or hoping for my release. "I've spent over 20 years on this earth and still haven't understood what it means to be loved, or how to love someone.

I read it. * My precious angels, Helion and Yuvonne. I don't know how this letter will greet you, but I have been sentenced to life. Yeah I know it doesn't sound nice, but what is out there for me again? I have lost my husband and I have given you people up for the country. There's nothing out there for me again. But I am seeing my times here as a second chance to amend my life. Take care of each other. I will always be with you. Xoxo.*

" His words sent shockwaves through me. I had been living in his web of lies all this time. The love I thought was real was nothing but an illusion he carefully crafted. From beginning to end, my so-called love and marriage were just a joke. But I refused to accept it without one last confirmation. I blinked away the tears at the corners of my eyes and asked softly, "Harold, have you ever loved me?" His gaze flickered for a moment. Jasmine, stroking her pregnant belly, took the opportunity to chime in. "Darling, do you love her or me?"

The table was filled with crawling ants and evidence of a possible termite infection. The paint on the walls, which she thought was once white –or blue-or gray. At that point, no one could tell. The open area was surrounded by prisoners in orange. Their gloomy expressions a far cry from the vibrant orange hue: Most were in tears and others were overtaken with the feeling of loss and yearning caused by months apart from their loved ones _who they only got to see for 30 minutes. Others were held in high concentration, carving the faces of their lovers in their memory probably to keep them company till the next time they got a chance to meet again. Unlike the other prisons, that would only be f

Only the envelope remained in my trembling hands. That night... Stonegate Federal Prison. Damian sat on the edge of his narrow bed. The lights had already been switched off. Most of the inmates were asleep. He wasn't. Sleep had become a stranger years ago. Footsteps echoed down the corridor. A correctional officer stopped outside his cell. "You've got legal mail." Damian frowned. At this hour? The envelope slid beneath the bars. No return address. No name. His pulse quickened. Inside was a single sheet of paper.

That evening during rec time, I began composing my response: *"Dear Aloe,* *Congratulations again on Evelyn's arrival. April 23rd—a Taurus indeed. I'm already imagining the stubbornness you'll be dealing with in about two years. Good luck.* *Prison is exactly as terrible as movies suggest, though slightly better than I feared. The food is institutional, the company is varied, and I have a lot of time to think about the choices that brought me here. Mostly, I'm grateful those choices helped you and Evelyn reach safety.*

It was a tide, in and out, and some nights the water came up higher than others. One evening the letter arrived, thin envelope with no return address, postmarked from a maximum-security prison somewhere in the outback. Cedric read it at the kitchen table while the others moved around him, quiet and busy, Lily doing dishes, Mia humming while she cleaned brushes, the dog snoring under the table like none of it mattered, which, in the end, was the point. The words were short, no games, no blame. [You won. I lost. But I don't regret anything. I loved you. I still do. That's the only truth I know.]

The words were messy and rushed: “I don’t know if you’ll ever see this. I’m not sure I’ll live long enough to finish it. But if I disappear, maybe these letters will stay behind. Maybe you’ll understand then.” Vincent felt a tightness in his chest. He tried to say her name, “Camela…” but no sound came out. He tore another letter open: “You said you loved me. But love that cages isn’t real love. I wanted to believe you…I still want to. But every time you hold me, I hear his voice instead.” His claws trembled as they punctured through the page screaming, “No…” Letter after letter tumbled into his hands—some brief, some lengthy but none ended with her name and all were unsigned. They were lette

I freely admit that I was lacking in common sense. I wrote, "Russell, please don't be afraid. I will do everything in my power to break you out of that prison. I promise that I will take care of everything for you. I love you so much. You gave me your word that we would be mated as quickly as possible. Therefore, I will continue to wait even if it means I have to spend the rest of my life doing so.] Finally, "your mate, Eva" was the closing I chose for the letter.