The sixth year began with a long, brutal winter.

The snow started falling in November and did not stop until February.

The yard was closed for weeks at a time because of the ice.

We were confined to our cells for twenty-three hours a day.

Joseph, my cellmate, had grown frail.

His hands shook when he held his books, and he spent most of his time sleeping.

I spent my time looking out the narrow window.

The sky was the color of lead.

On a Tuesday morning in late January, the guard tapped on the iron bars of my door.

“DeLuca,” he said.

“Get your jacket.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You have a visitor,” the guard said.

“In the main visiting room.”

I stood up, my knees stiff from the cold.

“I do not have any visitors on my list,” I said.

“Just get your jacket,” the guard repeated.

I pulled the denim jacket over my uniform.

I followed him down the long corridor, my boots squeaking on the clean linoleum.

The prison was quiet.

Most of the inmates were still in their cells because of the weather.