Not violence. Not drugs.
A stupid mistake — one he regretted every hour of every day.
But the punishment that haunted him most wasn’t the concrete, the lockups, or the endless nights.
It was the fear of missing the one moment he had dreamed of since he was a boy:
Every night in his bunk, he laid awake imagining it — imagining his wife, Keisha, sweating and trembling with pain, imagining a nurse lifting a tiny newborn, imagining a future beginning without him there to witness it.
“Please, God,” he whispered countless nights. “Don’t let my child be born without me.”
But life does not bend for a man in prison.
And on this morning — three weeks earlier than expected — Keisha went into labor.
When the guards came to tell him, the news hit him like a punch.
He closed his eyes, already grieving a moment that wasn’t even over yet.
“She’s having the baby now?” he whispered.
“Right now,” the officer said. “They’re already on their way to the hospital.”
He felt his breath shake. Felt shame crawl under his skin. Felt the crushing truth:
his wife would go through the hardest moment of her life alone…
because of him.
But not everyone who wears a badge is cold.
When the news came that Keisha was in labor, the warden paused longer than protocol allowed.
Then he said quietly:
“Prepare him for transport. Two hours. Under guard. He deserves to see his child’s first breath.”
The officers nodded. Compassion is rare in prison — but not extinct.
When they brought Andre his jumpsuit and cuffs, his hands trembled too hard to button anything.
“What… what did you say?” he stammered to the guard.
“You’re going to the hospital,” the officer replied.
His knees buckled.
