I bought a prison in the United States.

In another corner of the canteen, no one noticed a prisoner named Jerome sitting alone at the very edge.

His tray contained only a bowl of almost untouched oatmeal and a cup of cold coffee.

His hands were on the table, with obvious calluses on his knuckles, but his fingers were trembling slightly.

That's the residue of withdrawal symptoms; the worst stage is over, but it still comes back from time to time.

Just as Foster's legs would ache when the weather changed, Jerome's body would also recall the taste of heroin when certain triggering conditions were met.

Who would have thought that the former underground boxing champion would become so sickly?

He had another attack this morning, which woke him from a nightmare in a cold sweat.

In his dream, he was in a basement with no exit, the walls were closing in on him, and the air was getting thinner and thinner.

When Tommy heard the noise and rushed over, Jerome was squatting in the corner of the cell, repeatedly muttering a name.

That's a woman's name.

Mariana.

However, Tommy did not ask who Mariana was.

In prison, many inmates have someone waiting for them outside, or someone who will never wait for them again.

The difference between the two often determines what path a prisoner will take after serving his sentence.

He gave Jerome two sleeping pills and sat outside his cell with him until 5 a.m., until his breathing became steady.

Staying up all night with prisoners experiencing drug withdrawal is not part of his job duties.

But Tommy did these things not because the manual said so, but because the manual didn't say so.

People like Jerome aren't born criminals; they're just caught up in something.

Drugs, alcohol, gambling, or simply poverty.

Then they made a mistake, then a second, then a third.

By the time they came to their senses, they were already in prison.

Tommy himself almost went down that path.

When he was nineteen, he worked at a gas station in Tulsa.

One night, two masked men broke in, pointed guns at his head, and demanded that he open the money box.

When he opened the money box, there were more than 520 US dollars inside.

The two men took the money and left. Before leaving, one of them turned back and looked at him, saying something:

"Don't call the police, we know where you live!"

He didn't call the police, but that doesn't mean he was actually threatened.

He was shocked because he recognized the voice.

That was his best friend from high school, named Lenny.

They played football together, chased after the same girl, and got completely drunk together at their graduation ceremony.

After graduating, Lenny went to Oklahoma City, saying he had found a good job.

A year later he came back, squatting in a run-down gas station, pointing a gun at his best friend's head!

Tommy later met Lenny in court.

He intended to pay back the money he was robbed of that night and pretend nothing had happened.

But $520 was more than a month's living expenses for him, and he couldn't afford it at the time.

After checking the surveillance footage, the gas station manager called the police, and Lenny was quickly apprehended.

He was sentenced to seven years for armed robbery, and this wasn't his first offense.

Tommy testified as a witness, and Lenny's mother, who was sitting in the audience, kept crying.

After the court hearing, Tommy walked up to Lenny's mother, unsure of what to say.

The woman's eyes were red and swollen from crying, but she still said something to him:

"Thank you for not shooting my son."

At that moment, Tommy decided what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

He didn't want to see such a scene again.

I don't want to see anyone forced to point a gun at their friend's head again, and I don't want to see a 19-year-old being consumed by fear while working the night shift at a gas station.

So he became a prison guard.

He didn't want to punish those people; he just wanted to try to make sure they left prison a little better than they came in.

Even if it's just a little bit.

He took his coffee cup and sat down opposite Jerome.

Jerome looked up, his pupils still slightly dilated from the effects of the tranquilizer, making his gaze appear somewhat unfocused.

How are you feeling today?

Tommy's voice was soft, as if he were comforting an old friend.

"I'm feeling a bit better."

Jerome's voice was hoarse:

"Thank you for yesterday."

Tommy nodded. "You're welcome."

"Would you like to come to the medical room today? I can take your blood pressure and see if your vital signs have improved."

"You know, each flare-up puts a strain on the body."

Jerome was silent for a moment, then said sadly:

"Marianna...she used to always make me take my blood pressure."

Tommy just sat there quietly, waiting for Jerome to decide whether or not to continue.

Jerome lowered his head, staring at his trembling fingers:

"She is my fiancée, and we were planning to get married last year."

"She worked at a hair salon, and I boxed in an underground boxing ring. I saved up money to buy her a wedding dress."

"Then we moved to California, where we rented a nice apartment, a bit further away from her mother."

"Her mother doesn't agree?" Tommy asked.

"Her mother felt that I, an underground boxer, was not good enough for her daughter, even though I had already resolved to stay away from that stuff."

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of Jerome's lips:

"She's right. Mariana died last August from a drug overdose."

"The police said she injected herself, but I know she never uses a needle."

"She's afraid of needles; she even faints when she gets vaccinated. Someone must have injected her!"

"It must be that guy named Chaco; he's been bothering her!"

Tommy frowned. "So you killed Chaco?"

"no."

Jerome shook his head:

"When I found him, he was already dead, and it was clearly murder, but I had no way to prove that I didn't kill him."

"The surveillance footage showed me near that building, and there was still blood on my jacket. Because I beat him up in the ring that afternoon, all the evidence points to me."

"You didn't hire a lawyer?"

"I found one, but that bastard was appointed by the court."

Jerome's voice gradually lost its anger, leaving only a deep-seated weariness.

"He persuaded me to plead guilty in just ten minutes. He said that if I pleaded guilty, my sentence could be reduced to ten years."

"If he doesn't plead guilty, he could face life imprisonment if he loses. A jury won't believe what a drug-addicted Black man says."

Tommy remained silent for a long time.

What Jerome said may not be entirely true.

After spending a long time in prison, everyone tends to weave a more respectable story for themselves.

But the problem is, even if only half of this story is true, it's still chilling enough.

"Are you coming to the medical room today?" Tommy asked finally.

Jerome thought for a moment and nodded.

"Okay, but you don't need to take my blood pressure."

Why?

"Because every time I finish taking my measurements, I think of her."