Emily stood in the center, laughing. Chloe sat on Gavin’s shoulders, waving at the camera.
Engraved beneath the photograph were four simple words:
Our story isn’t over.
Gavin pressed the frame against his chest.
For years, other people had written his story for him.
They had called him greedy.
Violent.
Guilty.
They had reduced his life to a case number and a scheduled date.
But they had been wrong.
His story had not ended inside Cell 18.
It had not ended in the execution chamber.
It continued on a quiet porch beside the daughter who had never stopped believing in him.
