Two days later, Teagan stood in line waiting to get her morning breakfast. She hadn’t talked to her kids or husband for a week. She listened to the cries of the women in the cells next to her or the fights between inmates. With her background in the Navy, she was used to cold nights, battling fatigue, muddy smells, and cold showers. Now, as the pile of burnt grits, one strip of bacon, and toast fell on her plate, she rubbed her growling stomach and turned to head over to the table in the back corner, sitting alone. She had a nightmare last night once again about the kids and how they were handling her absence.
“You look like you’re ready to vomit.” A full-figure, older inmate with grey hair sat across from her at the table.
Teagan pushed the tray away.
“If you want to go under the radar
