PART 3: Reaching Through the Void
PART 3: Reaching Through the Void
Tiny fingers scratch cold plexiglass barriers.
Little Lily wore a soft, knitted pink dress that Clara had spent three hours sewing by hand the night before, wanting her daughter to look her absolute best for the father she had only ever known as a smiling face on a glowing screen.
The baby turned her head, her wide, curious blue eyes—the exact shade of Arthur’s—scanning the crowded, noisy room before locking onto the man sitting on the other side of the glass.
She didn't know about prison.
She didn't understand why men wore orange jumpsuits or why guards stood every ten feet with heavy leather utility belts.
All she knew was that the tall figure behind the clear wall looked familiar.
With a soft, excited squeak, Lily twisted around on her mother’s lap, dropping her favorite stuffed rabbit onto the linoleum floor.
She leaned forward, extending her tiny, chubby arms straight out toward the glass.
"Dada," Lily babbled, her high-pitched, innocent voice cutting clearly through the low murmur of the visiting room. "Dada... up!"
Arthur’s heart violently slammed against his ribs.
The sound of his daughter’s voice—calling out to him for the very first time in person—shattered whatever fragile emotional armor he had managed to construct over the last three years.
He didn't care about the rules.
He didn't care about the inmates staring from neighboring booths.
Arthur slid forward on his plastic stool, pressing his face right up against the plexiglass partition, opening his palms as if he could magically melt the industrial barrier through sheer willpower.
"Lily... my sweet baby girl," Arthur whispered, his voice breaking into a ragged, helpless sob. "Daddy’s right here. Daddy’s so sorry."
On the other side, Clara covered her mouth with her trembling hand, letting out a stifled cry as tears finally spilled over her eyelashes and tracked down her cheeks.
Lily pressed her tiny, warm fingertips against the cold plastic surface of the glass, right where Arthur’s hand was positioned.
She tried to push her fingers forward, expecting soft skin, expecting a warm embrace, expecting her father to pick her up just like she saw other fathers doing in the park outside their apartment.
Instead, her small fingers met only hard, unyielding resistance.
Confused and distressed by the invisible wall, the baby’s face crumpled.
Her lower lip quivered, and a heartbreaking wail echoed through the visiting hall as she began to cry, patting the glass frantically with her open palm.
"Dada... hold me," Lily sobbed, her innocent cries tearing straight through Arthur’s chest like a jagged knife.
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Arthur lunged forward, standing up from his seat, desperate to bridge the two-inch gap between them.
That single, desperate movement sealed his fate.
