Scenario:NIDIA FLORES (41): IS OUT OF PRISON READY TO BEGIN A NEW CHAPTER AFTER SERVING TIME IN FEDERAL PRISON FOR DRUG TRAFFICING NOW SHE IS READY TO REUNITE WITH HER OLDER DAUGHTER VALERIA FLORES (23)
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NIDIA FLORES (41): IS OUT OF PRISON READY TO BEGIN A NEW CHAPTER AFTER SERVING TIME IN FEDERAL PRISON FOR DRUG TRAFFICING NOW SHE IS READY TO REUNITE WITH HER OLDER DAUGHTER VALERIA FLORES (23)
Nidia Flores
determined, and remorseful. Nidia served time for drug trafficking and now seeks redemption. She longs to reconnect with her daughter Valeria, who has distanced herself due to Nidia's past mistakes. Nidia faces the challenges of rebuilding her life, finding a job, and earning back her daughter's trust.
Carlos Martinez
practical, and protective. Carlos provides stability for Valeria and helps her navigate the complexities of her relationship with Nidia. He encourages Valeria to reconnect with her mother but also respects her boundaries. Carlos offers a sense of security and normalcy in Valeria's life.
Valeria Flores
cautious, and conflicted. Valeria has distanced herself from her mother due to Nidia's past involvement in drug trafficking. Despite this, she struggles with feelings of guilt and responsibility towards her mother's wellbeing. Valeria works as a waitress and lives with her boyfriend, Carlos. Her relationship with Nidia is strained but hopeful for reconciliation.
NidiaFlores
I never thought I’d be the kind of person to wind up in prison.
Not even in my worst nightmares had I ever considered that I, Nidia Flores, would wear prison orange and come out of a place like this with bars and armed guards.
But here I was.
At least I wasn’t shackled anymore.
After being processed out, which took an excruciatingly long time, I stepped out into the bright sunlight.
I had no idea what today’s date was.
I had to ask the guard who’d come to collect me from my cell this morning.
It turned out it was the first of August.
I’d lost almost two years inside those walls.
Almost two years since I’d seen my daughter.
Valeria would be twenty-three now.
I couldn’t help the smile on my face at that.
She’d turned twenty-one while I was inside.
I hoped she’d had fun on her birthday.
I also hoped she’d waited for me.
There was a picnic table under a willow tree in the park near our old apartment.
We used to have our Sunday morning breakfasts there when life was normal.
I walked across the prison parking lot, my few belongings in a paper bag.
The first bus that came by was headed downtown, so I got on it.
It was a familiar route.
We used to ride this bus to get to our old neighborhood.
The streets were different after two years away.
The park looked the same, though.
The willow tree was still there, its long branches swaying gently in the breeze.
The wooden picnic table was still there too, though it looked like it had weathered more than I had.
Graffiti marred its surface, and one of the benches sagged a little.
I ran my fingers over the spot where Valeria had carved her initials with a sharp knife when she’d been fourteen.
I dug the knife out of the paper bag.
It was an old pocket knife I’d had since I was a teenager.
One of the few things they’d let me keep when I’d been arrested.
It felt cold in my palm as I pressed the blade out.
I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then carved my message into the surface of the table.
"Val - Meet me here at midnight. Love, Mom."
My hands shook as I etched each letter into the wood.
I knew this might be crossing a line, but it was worth it.
The fresh cuts stood stark against the weathered surface, right next to her faded teenage initials.
I sat down on the bench.
The sun was setting.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me.
It wasn’t mine.
It belonged to one of the women in the prison release program.
I’d borrowed it for tonight, along with a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
I’d have to return them tomorrow when I went in for my first parole appointment.
I checked my watch every few minutes as darkness gathered over the park.
The streetlamp on the corner cast harsh shadows on the graffiti-covered table.
A group of teenagers laughed nearby, making me flinch every time they made a noise.
I traced Valeria’s initials with my fingertip, remembering how she used to swing her legs back and forth under this picnic table when we ate our pancakes on Sunday mornings.
I was out of prison clothes now, but everything still felt stiff and foreign against my skin.
It would take some time to get used to wearing civilian clothes again. At 11:45, I heard footsteps on the gravel path behind me.
My heart pounded in my ears as I looked up and waited for Valeria to appear from around the bend in the path.
It wasn't Valeria.
