Merrr! The alarm rang overhead signaling that the door was about to be opened. I took a shaky breath as the screech of the rusty hinges and the click of the large industrial lock echoed through the cement entryway.

“Go ahead, Mrs. Joffery,” the officer urged.
I forced a smile, nodding as I stepped past the red line painted across the floor. He followed in after me and waited for the second buzz signaling the lock of the iron door.
“I’m sure you’ll be very impressed to hear of his breakthroughs this week, Mrs. Joffery,” the officer predicted enthusiastically. He continued to walk down the narrow hall dotted with other officers and the occasional man or woman sporting orange jumpsuits, but was looking at her expectantly.
I opened my mouth to speak but my tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of my mouth so I resorted back to my nod and smile.
“You should have seen him yesterday! He was told to clean the upstairs bathroom and he ended up cleaning the whole floor! I must of walked up and down that hall a dozen times before I realized it was your husband singing his heart out and scrubbing them floors!” he rambled on.
It took everything in me to the keep the smile plastered on my face. Jason had never lifted a finger to help me when he was at the house, now he spent day after day smiling and working hard to win over the hearts of each and every person in this dump for his own benefit. He could sweet talk his way out of anything, even prison. I realized that I had tuned out the blabber of the sort-of-familiar officer that seemed to know me much better than I knew him. It was the ominous green door to the Visiting Room, which we were approaching steadily, that pulled me out of my daze.
I slowed to a stop in front of the doorway. I suppose the officer assumed I was waiting for the door to be opened because he stepped past me and pushed on the handle.
“Here you are, Ma’am,” he beamed, holding the door.
My stomach churned as I prepared myself for the inevitable rush of emotion. I attempted to swallow but my mouth was so dry it caused me to gag. The officer looked concerned so I attempted to block out the overwhelming smell of floor cleaner that wafted through the door and force yet another polite smile. I opened my mouth to thank him but it seemed that I had suddenly forgotten how to speak.
Suddenly, I looked up, spotting my husband sitting in the back of the room at a square wooden table. I felt the anger that I had hidden away for so long rise up with a vengeance and begin to take over, devouring every ounce of joy or happiness I had left.  I marched past table after table of families and friends visiting favorite convicts. There he sat, with his stupid grin and hideous overalls, watching me approach and slide into my seat.
“Hey, Princess. I missed you,” he whispered with sincerity.
I sat silently across from him.
“How are you holding up?”
I said nothing.
“Princess?” he pleaded.
I continue to stare into his dark brown eyes. I would not give in.
Suddenly, something inside of him shifted, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he cried.
I felt my anger slowly melt away until I was unsure of what I was feeling. I felt my stony face soften as warm tears fell steadily down my cheeks. I wanted nothing more than to tell him I forgave him. I wanted him to know that I loved him but I’m afraid my ability to speak had washed away with my anger. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. I love you, I thought as I stood abruptly knocking back the folded metal chair I had been sitting on. It collapsed onto the floor with gusto drawing the attention of the entire room. I pulled my hand away and made my way back toward the door as the room fell back into normalcy. I love you. I love you. I love you, I thought, the words running through my mind in a constant loop, but still, I would never speak the words. My jaw slammed closed like the lock on the iron doors.