Life

"I never saw this coming," Stan mumbled, looking down at his lap. "I mean, honestly ... " "I know, Honey," she replied. "We try our best, but we can't predict how some things will go." The handcuffs clanked against the table as he reached to take her hands; the guards very quickly warned them off. No touching. "It's gonna be life in prison," Stan whispered next, closing his eyes against the shock of saying it out loud. "But what a life," his mom replied and, for a moment, he could imagine that they were in the kitchen of the family home talking over coffee and cinnamon rolls. "I just wanted to get us to the point where you didn't have to clean for a living," Stan said, taking a deep breath and looking his mother directly in the eye. "But I never thought to ask what kind of cleaner you were." She laughed; the orange jumpsuit looked nice on her with her sparkling blue eyes and grey hair. "Well, it's not something you can easily explain to an eight year old," she chuckled. "Look, we made great memories in that house; keep it. Paint it, expand the kitchen, put a new floor in the coop ... " The coop comment was so random that Stan struggled to keep focused; he'd check there when the feds were done searching the place for the umpteenth time. " ... and live your best life," Stan's mom finished, smiling warmly. "I'll visit every week," he assured her and she shrugged. "Live your best life," she said again, sorry and not sorry she'd done what she had to do to make that happen.