My husband had me sentenced to ten years for a two-million-dollar fraud I never committed, and in the courthouse corridor he pulled my grandmother’s ring off my finger and told me to enjoy it. I didn’t argue. I handed a folded piece of paper to the guard.

And he said, pleasantly, loud enough to carry the whole length of that corridor:

“Give me that. It was my grandmother’s. Enjoy your ten years. Brynn and I will work out what to do with your money. Say goodbye.”

Forty people.

My deputy from Kellerman was standing eleven feet away. Two women from my old church. Nobody said one word, and the two officers with me stood and waited rather than move me on, which I have thought about a great deal since.

I said, “Take care of Cass.”

And my husband laughed and said, “We’ll see whether a judge thinks a felon gets to be a mother.”

Brynn put her hand over her mouth.