I never thought I’d be writing this. Not like this. Not as the wife of the man I used to guard, used to protect. Not as someone on the outside screaming for help that should’ve been automatic on the inside. But here we are. I used to serve this system. Now I’m exposing it. I used to wear the uniform. Sixteen hours a day, six days a week, I walked those same yards. I protected inmates, respected them, loved them—because I knew most of them had never known compassion a day in their life. I saw their pain, their potential, their humanity. And now? Now I’m fighting like hell for the one who stole my heart behind those very walls. My husband is being failed. Deliberately. Repeatedly. Brutally. For days now— too many days —my husband has been locked down in complete isolation under what they call “observation.” No family contact. No personal belongings. No consistent monitoring. No treatment plan. What he’s getting instead? A blanket and a pill. They’re trying to medicate h...