She was quiet for a moment, revisiting a memory probably best left alone. "Then my life turned around. The beginning of the second year things changed suddenly. I heard the head honcho inmate, a very large and intimidating woman in her thirties named Terri, say to someone that she was trying to write a letter to a guy on the outside she liked, but didn't know what to say. I told her I had experience writing and would help her with it. I needed some way to get on the good side of people. Of course, I was lying through my teeth. I had no experience writing. What I did have, that most of these women lacked, was an education. Some of them couldn't put two words together. Anyway, Terri took me up on the offer. The day a letter came back from the guy showing interest was the day hell ended for me. Terri wanted me to write all of her letters and she put out the word that I was not to be touched—even by the guards.

Over the next five years, I wrote letters for everybody—including the guards. I was writing letters to lovers, family members, lawyers, the media—I even had an article published, not under my name, of course, but under the name of the inmate I was writing it for. Things got a lot better for me, and for the first time since early in my marriage, I was gaining confidence. I would trade writing for facials, haircuts, manicures, pedicures, you name it. It's why I don't have the hard looks associated with prison. Some of the girls taught me how to defend myself—real self-defense—effective stuff that causes the most pain to your attacker. These girls were tough, but they also had needs and my writing fulfilled so many of those needs. One of the guards who had raped me early on even apologized for his actions after I wrote a loving letter to his mother for him. Prison is where I wrote my first two books, although I didn't try to get them published until I got out."

She went on. "Once I was released, I legally changed my name and found a job. I did live in an apartment with other women—none of whom knew my story, by the way—but I never worked as an editorial assistant."

She caught a breath. I was mesmerized by her story and still couldn't say anything.

"That part of my life is something I will never be able to forget, obviously, but I'm doing everything possible to move on and create this new life as Sabrina Spencer, author. Someday the story will come out, but by then, hopefully I will be strong enough to lay it out without shame. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you the truth, but you have to understand, I didn't know you well enough at first. I've thought a few times about when I would tell you, but I kept chickening out. Only three people in my new life know this story—my agent, my editor, and my therapist." She smiled for the first time. "My therapist, by the way, will be thrilled that I had this breakdown. She has been trying for four years to get me to let it out like that, but I've been unable to. Maybe it took finding someone I really cared about for it to happen."