If you’d asked me a few years ago if I could ever see myself marrying someone in prison, I would’ve said no way. But honestly, life has a way of throwing you curveballs, and sometimes you end up exactly where you never thought you’d be. I didn’t go looking for this. In fact, when it all started, I was actually with his brother. Yeah, it’s weird to say out loud, but his brother was the one who asked me to start writing to him. At first, I only agreed because I figured it would make someone’s day a little less lonely. I wasn’t searching for a soulmate, and I sure as hell wasn’t looking for a husband behind bars.
But things happen. You start talking to someone, and it’s just letters at first—nothing serious. But he was so honest in the way he wrote, so open about the way he felt. He didn’t hide from what he’d done or make excuses. He just put it all out there. And slowly, I found myself opening up, too. Somewhere along the way, those letters started to mean something more.
I know a lot of people can’t understand falling for someone who’s locked up. Even my own mom used to say I was crazy for getting involved with an inmate. But here’s what people don’t see from the outside: everyone in there is still a person. Some of them made terrible mistakes, some belong right where they are—but they’re all human. My husband always says, “Anyone can go to prison.” It sounds obvious, maybe even silly, but it’s true. And now, even my mom gets it—her own boyfriend ended up in jail, and her tune changed fast.
When I think about what drew me in, it’s hard to put into words. I’ve dated plenty of people before—some total jerks, some genuinely good guys who just weren’t what I needed. But he’s different. Maybe it’s the way the prison system humbled him, the way he talks about his past with no illusions. He admits he used to be arrogant, and that arrogance cost him everything. Now, he’s sensitive. He cries when we talk sometimes, tells me how much he wishes he could be out living a real life with me, how he wants to do more for me because he thinks I deserve the best. You can feel when someone really loves you. I see it in his eyes every time we visit, and there’s honestly nothing better than knowing you love someone and they love you right back—no matter where they are.
He’s not in for something small. Nine counts of armed robbery. He robbed businesses—grocery stores, restaurants, gas stations—never hurt anyone, never shot anyone, but he did pull a gun on people when he felt like he had no choice. It’s messed up, and I’m not going to sugarcoat it. He was desperate. He’d been laid off from a good job, had bills and a girlfriend to support, and the first time he did it, he realized how easy it was. After a while, not getting caught made him think he could keep going. That all caught up with him. I met him after he’d already been inside for four years; he’s got about ten left to go.
We got married inside, just us and the justice of the peace. Not a big wedding, not romantic by anyone else’s standards, but it meant everything to me. I visit every weekend—eight hours one day, four the next. We talk, joke, kiss, eat snacks from the vending machines, sometimes even manage to steal a little intimacy when the guards aren’t looking. There are no conjugal visits, but people find a way. You’d be surprised how easy it is, honestly, and it’s kind of sad.
The prison system doesn’t really support families, not spouses, not even kids or parents. If you try to get married while someone’s inside, they put you through counseling sessions designed to talk you out of it. Even after you’re married, you’re just another visitor, often treated as if you’re just as suspect as the inmates.
People always ask if I worry about him being violent. I don’t. I know him—really know him, not just the version of him that ended up in there. He’s never been violent with me or even shown signs that he could be. He’s actually a big teddy bear. My friends love him, and even my parents have come around. My dad—who’s military, and always straightforward about his opinions—actually really likes him.
Sometimes I do think about the people who were victims in his robberies. I wish I could find them and apologize to them on his behalf, let them know he’s paying for what he did. I care a lot about justice, and I’d never pretend he shouldn’t be where he is. He owns what he did—he’s never said he didn’t deserve to be there. At his sentencing, he didn’t just say sorry, he actually acknowledged he was wrong and apologized to the victims and their families. That meant a lot to me, more than a simple “I’m sorry” ever could.
He’s not perfect, but he’s trying. He’s earned his GED inside, stayed out of trouble, gets along with the staff. Even the correctional officers and the deputy warden say he’s a good person. I believe them, because I know who he is when it’s just the two of us.
I’ve never once thought about leaving him. Being with an inmate isn’t easy, but I’ve never lost interest, never felt like I’d rather be anywhere else. I’d rather be with someone I know loves me completely, even if it means waiting, than settle for someone on the outside whose love I have to question. I’m in this for the long haul.