Wednesday, July 8, 2026
Wednesday, July 8, 2026
After what seemed like hours of waiting, a detention officer came to the cell door and called my name.
From my mattress on the floor, I looked up at him to make sure I had heard him correctly.
“Have I been bailed out?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “Grab your mattress and blanket and come on.”
As I stepped out of the cell, I noticed he didn’t put handcuffs on me. I dropped the mattress and blanket just outside the cell door, and we walked to the counter.
After signing what felt like my life away, we walked to the other side of the building where he handed me a bag containing my personal belongings. For the first time since I had been arrested, I finally felt like a person with rights again.
He pointed me toward a bathroom where I could change back into my clothes and told me to put the jumpsuit in the bag when I was finished.
The moment I closed the bathroom door, the tears started to fall.
Miles hadn’t forgotten me. He hadn’t left me there to rot, even though at that moment I truly believed that’s what I deserved.
As I changed clothes, I caught my first real glimpse of my leg. It looked horrible. It was swollen so badly I could barely put weight on it, and it hurt just to touch it.
But I didn’t care.
All I wanted was to get dressed and get out of there.
Even though I knew I should probably use the bathroom while I had the privacy, I was so desperate to leave that all I could think was, I’ll just use my own bathroom when I get home.
I had no idea what was about to happen.
I handed the officer the bag with the jail clothing, and he pointed me toward the exit.
The moment I stepped outside those jail doors, I completely broke down.
I cried so hard I could barely see where I was walking.
I looked around, expecting to see Miles waiting for me.
He wasn’t there.
I walked to the front of the courthouse across from the detention center and sat down on a bench. I waited… and waited… and still there was no sign of him.
I couldn’t wait any longer.
I was thirsty.
I was hungry.
I was filthy.
I was bruised.
I was exhausted.
And more than anything, I just wanted to go home.
I finally convinced myself that maybe this was part of my punishment. Maybe Miles had decided that if I wanted to get home, I could walk.
Home was about three miles away, maybe even closer to four.
It didn’t matter.
I didn’t want to spend another second anywhere near that jail.
So, despite the pain in my leg, I got up and started walking.
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