I had no idea what to expect. I’d never been to jail, after all. I’d only seen it on TV, watched prisoners and their visitors talk on black phone receivers through panes of plexiglass.

“I guess so?” I asked.

“He’s going to be mighty glad to see you.” He was awfully cheery.

I was surprised to be taken to an open room with floor-to-ceiling windows, quilts hanging on the walls, five or six sets of tables and chairs. It smelled of a familiar cleaning solution. Windex, maybe, or 409? It wasn’t an offensive smell, and it thrilled me that the entire place felt so bright and tidy. A family was clustered in the right-hand corner, and it broke my heart to see a toddler on what I presumed was her father’s lap. In the middle were two men huddled together talking. And in the left-hand corner, in an orange jumpsuit he looked quite sickly in, was Bill. Huh. It was shocking to see how tiny a six-foot-two man could look.

Bill’s once-blond hair had darkened to light brown and, now, begun to tinge with gray around the temples. He was a stickler for an every-three-week haircut, which he was definitely at the tail end of now. Bill had a commanding presence, broad shoulders, a strong jaw. He was the kind of man who looked like he would always protect me. What about now? He gasped when he saw me. He jumped out of his chair and practically leapt toward me, wrapping me in his arms and kissing me passionately. I let him. He smelled like metal and industrial soap, not the Byredo Black Saffron body wash he favored. And he was so thin. How was he ever going to survive in here?

It felt like a stranger kissing me, but I still found myself melting into him. I missed him; I missed him so much. As I pulled away and hugged him tightly, I felt myself exhale a breath that I didn’t know I had been holding for the past four days. And out with the breath came an absolute reservoir of tears. I looked into the face of my husband, the man I loved. “I’m so sorry,” I said. A physical pain gripped my insides. Through my tears, I touched his face and said, “You needed me, and I just left you here.”

He pulled me to him again. “Hey,” he said quietly, in that same kind voice he always used to comfort me. “It’s okay. I know this has been hard for you too.” He stroked my hair. “I knew you had to go home to your parents. You didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Home is where you are,” I choked.

He kissed my tearstained cheeks. “I know.”