I eventually pull into the dark drive four hours later. I shake my head and blink my tired eyes, trying to awaken myself some more as I turn off the engine. I look at my bag in the passenger seat and see the folder poking out of the top. I shove it as far as I can back down into the bag, wanting to hide the real reason for my trip to New York from Roman. I grab both handles and push open the door. I stand up, locking the car, before walking up to the front door. I look over my shoulder at the prison wondering if Roman is still there. I look down at my watch and see it is about 7p.m. so all of the inmates should be back at their cell blocks meaning Roman doesn't have a lot to do. My mind moves to another man behind the walls. One that is dark and dangerous, and extremely attractive. One of the many prisoners now enjoying their downtime.

I turn back to the door, putting the key which is now in my hand in the lock. I turn it and hear Roman shout out at me almost immediately. I guess he is home.

"DeeDee?" He calls. I sigh when I hear that he has been drinking.

"Yeah, it's me." I call back, rolling my eyes internally. Who else would it have been? I pull the key out, looking down at the bag. I pull the handles closer together as I push the door open. Pulling the bag closer to my body, I continue into the living room where Roman is sitting on the couch, a beer in hand. I don't plan on staying long, as I will have a greater chance of being found out, so I stay standing in the doorway.

"Ro, I'm tired and hungry, so I was going to grab something small to eat and then go up to bed." I let him know, before I start towards the kitchen. I don't get any further than the doorway, before I am stopped by Roman's voice.

"I don't appreciate being lied to." I close my eyes briefly, before turning to look at him. His arms are rested on his legs as he leans forwards. He places the bottle down on the table, before his head turns to look at me.

"I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have and I won't do it again." I tell him, knowing I won't be able to stick to my word. I see his shoulders visibly tense at my words.

"Another lie." I bite back a response knowing that it would only anger him more. I turn and continue into the kitchen. I put my bag down on the table, before turning to the counter. I grab the bread bag taking out a couple of slices for a sandwich. I turn to the fridge, opening it when Roman's voice makes me jump looking to him.

"What are you doing? I wasn't finished with you."

"I told you I was hungry, I'm making myself a sandwich. I wasn't ignoring you," I explain, hoping to ease his anger. He makes an unbelieving sound before he turns to the table, sitting down in a chair with his beer in hand. My eyes move to the bag, before going back to him. I force a smile, before returning to making my sandwich.

"How was work today?" I ask.

"It was alright," he answers with a shrug. I stop what I am doing and narrow my eyes at him. Usually he takes the chance to tell me everything that happened, and complains to me about the small things, even if nothing major happened in the day.

"Are you OK?" I cross my arms leaning my hip against the counter as I look at him. He tips the beer bottle back, before placing it down on the table. He clears his throat before pushing the bottle to the edge of the table. I roll my eyes moving to the fridge, taking out another bottle. I open it, and place it down on the table in front of him. Before I can retract my hand Roman has his hand around my already bandaged wrist. I inhale through my teeth but don't complain.

"Don't act like you care. You wouldn't lie to me if you cared. I bet you don't lie to your boyfriend over the road." I bite my tongue, stopping a response about how he doesn't care for me. If he knows I don't care, and he doesn't care about me, why is he keeping me in this relationship? It's unhealthy.

I go to pull my wrist from his grip, but he keeps me there.

"I heard that you went against me, and continued visitation anyway yesterday," he comments staring up at me, daring me to explain.

"I didn't understand why I had to stop, it was one person, and it won't happen again. Ro, please don't stop them." I plead. A calculating look comes onto his face before a small smile comes onto his lips. I swallow, uncomfortable. What is usually a happy sign is twisted into one of conniving and evil.

"OK, you can continue."

"Thanks, can I have my arm back?" His grip tightens, his eyebrows rising in a challenge. I try to pull away again, this time with force. Not expecting him to let go, my arm goes flying backwards until it hits my bag which falls off the table, the contents spilling everywhere. I see the file go skidding across the floor as if in slow motion. I move to pick it up, but a long arm gets there before me. I go to snatch it out of his hands but he pulls it back behind him, turning his head to look at it. I gulp, reaching for it again. His other hand comes back and keeps me away from him with ease with one hand on my shoulder. I groan, moving away and to the other side of the kitchen, hoping that the space will help. I sneak glances at Roman as I finish my sandwich, cutting it in half. Roman has opened the file and is flicking through the pages. How am I going to explain this to him? Will he know that Nixon is just a short walk away? I pick up one bit of my sandwich hoping to get out of here as soon as I can. I swallow it down with difficulty as I wait for Roman to make a sound. I don't even know what his mentality about it is.

I have nearly finished half of my sandwich when I get my answer.

"What is this?" He asks almost calmly. I put down the sandwich, taking a moment to think about what to say. He called me naïve last time I said that someone asked whether I thought they were innocent, so I don't want to tell him the truth. However, if I don't tell him the truth, he'll probably know. I have to say something.

"Scott gave it to me to look at," I reply choosing my words carefully. Hopefully with the mention of Scott it will calm him, like earlier. I wipe my hands on my pants before I reach for the folder. Roman releases it from his grip. "I haven't even had a chance to look at it yet to see what he gave me."

"Why would he give it to you?"

"He thought that I would like to look it over. It's a closed case, and he wondered if I agree with their conclusion."

"Why would he think that?"

"You know how Piper and I were at school. I said that I didn't have a lot to do, and he mentioned a case where there was a lot of disagreement over the outcome and that they were thinking of reopening it and I offered to have a look at it," I tell him with my back to him, not giving the pronoun a name. He doesn't need to know I was actually talking about Nixon. It's not entirely true, but it's not entirely false. If you have enough truthfulness in your lie, it will be more believable. Well, that's what I found with Roman.

"What do you mean you have little to do? You have work." I stare at the wall in front of me.

"You stopped me from going to college, and following my dream of working in law, so please don't stop me from doing this small thing. I promise it won't affect my work," I plead with him.

Piper and I had planned on going to school together, and eventually open our own firm but Roman had put a stop to that even before we were married. He said that we didn't have the money at the time, and I should wait. I should have guessed then that it would have got worse, but at the time I agreed with him, and that was when I got my job at the shop trying to add to my college fund. I denied the offer from my parents that they would pay some of it. I wanted to do it all myself.

I hear Roman grumble in a small protest, but doesn't say I have to stop. I sigh in relief with a small smile. I return the folder to my bag, kissing Roman on the forehead quickly, thanking him for allowing me to have this small victory. I return to the sandwich, finishing it off, feeling lighter and happier. I wash up everything as Roman stands up and walks out of the kitchen. I pause as look after him, to see he is going to his office. I dry my hands before I grab my bag.

"I'm going up," I call. I hear the slam of his door closing, letting me know he isn't going to answer.

As I get to the top of the stairs, I stop at a window that looks out over the prison, my hand falling to the folder in my bag. This might the first step to getting an innocent man out of there.

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