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SADIE

Day Eight

W hat the hell is the point of this?

My legs are burning—begging me for mercy.

According to the clock on the wall, I’ve been standing for four and a half hours—all while Dr. Weiss lounges in his plush chair and fucking doodles in his notepad.

Is that another caterpillar?

A few years ago, I would’ve snapped—dropped to the floor just to spite him. Prison trained that instinct out of me.

His phone suddenly shrieks to life, and he taps the screen.

“Stay right there,” he says, standing. “We have company.”

He shuts the door behind him without looking back.

The cushions of his chair slowly puff back into shape, tempting me with their downy warmth.

I don’t even get the chance to consider disobeying before he’s back—trailing a salt-and-pepper-haired man behind him.

“Sadie, this is Professor Trenton from Vanderbilt University,” Dr. Weiss says. “He’s the department chair for Psychological Studies and he’s here to join our session and take notes.”

He pulls two chairs from a closet and sets them out for me and the professor.

I collapse into the chair, and my muscles exhale in relief.

“Forgive me for saying this, Miss Pretty, but you’re easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” The professor offers a small smile.

I glance at Dr. Weiss. His expression doesn't change, but his fingers whiten around his chair’s armrest.

“Let’s pick up our conversation where we left off.” He acts as if we were actually talking before this guy arrived.

“How do your family members treat you when they come to visit you in prison?” he asks.

“They don’t visit.”

“Ever?”

“The visits stopped after the first year,” I say. “After the huge Dateline episode…”

“What about when you call?”

“They don’t answer,” I say. “They haven’t answered in years. I trade my extra phone minutes for stamps and snacks.”

“Friends?”

“I have tons of pen pals and a few old friends from college who reach out every now and then for a research project. They don’t ask about me. It’s just about the prison experience and if it’s as bad as some people say it is.”

“Interesting,” the professor chimes in. “Is it?”

“It’s worse than anyone could ever imagine.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Pretty.” He looks genuine. “What about your boyfriend?”

Dr. Weiss’s head jerks up from his notebook. His brow tightens.

I hesitate, briefly considering a lie—but they’ve probably read every transcript I’ve ever given.

“We’re on a break right now,” I say. “It’s complicated.”

He looks like he wants more, but I leave it there. I’ve said enough.

The sound of scribbling fills the room as the professor asks a few more questions, and before I know it, the session is over.

Later that night

When I wake to use the bathroom, I notice Dr. Weiss has made a move on our chessboard.

He’s captured my knight.

A petty, premature move. Not strategic— personal .

He’s sending a message.

He’s angry with me…