The yelling. The salty, wet tears hit the floor leaving permanent marks. The restricted time. Why do we have to suffer for her mistake? The bars that surrounded us seemed to be closing in on us; it was almost time to leave. Everyday trying to leave gets harder, the screaming refusal and his weight seems to be getting heavier each time; soon I won’t be able to carry him out anymore.

The whistle blows and she has to leave. This is the worst part. He’s too young to understand why it has to be this way. We watch as she lines up behind some of the others that have visiting time as well, slowly one by one they were lead back to their cells. The sound of the metal door slamming shut rings as the officers lock them and their keys jingling as they walk to get the next person. She was up next, that when we have to leave. Every time we get home, he won’t let me help, “I want mummy to do it” he cries. It’s a routine, every day, every night. After I’ve sat leaning on his door listening to him cry himself to sleep, I lay my head on the floor and close my eyes. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

I wake up to the burden of thumping sounds. I get up, and begin to slowly walk closer to where this sound is coming from. I watch as this faint shadow behind the front door in the distance begins to form. The shadow moves and another thump sound rings in my ears. As I unlock the door and pull it towards me, I hear a familiar voice, “I’m home…” But it can’t be. “You shouldn’t be here” I say, the anger came out in the tone in my voice as I try to shut the door. The puts her foot in front so the door doesn’t click shut, “But what if I promise I won’t leave again, I don’t think they are going to lock me up forever”, she replies. All of a sudden, the sound of heavy footprints fills the house, and a gush of wind comes up behind me, “Mummy, you’re home” he yells. He wraps his tiny arms around her leg, holding on with everything he has. “It’s okay Baby, I’m home for a while” she says...