In a small, quiet town, far from the eyes of the world, a man named
Peter sat in a prison cell — not just any man, and not for a petty crime. Peter
had been convicted of robbing 27 banks, a feat that made headlines once but now
was reduced to whispers in the prison yard. His world had shrunk to bars and
routine, yet his mind remained sharp, and his heart still very much connected
to the world he left behind — especially to his beloved wife, Susan.
One morning, Peter received a letter from her. The handwriting was
familiar, the kind that brought a quiet warmth even inside those cold, grey
walls.
Peter read it with a soft smile. He could picture her standing at the
edge of their garden, hands on her hips, looking at the patch of soil where
they'd once spent quiet weekends together. But behind her innocent question,
Peter saw something else — a chance.
He took a deep breath, picked up his pen, and replied with calm
confidence.
He sent it off, knowing full well what he was doing.
Days passed. Then another letter came — this one nearly shaking with
laughter between the lines.
Peter chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that starts in the chest and
warms the whole body. Then he wrote back:
It wasn’t just wit. It was love — quiet, unspoken, and fiercely loyal.
Peter hadn’t hidden any money in the garden. He simply wanted to help his wife
with the hard digging, in the only way he could from inside a cell.
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