It started to rain as I made my way to visit my father. The cold, humid air of this morning had vanished and was replaced by a cold drizzle.

As I rounded the corner searching for an umbrella in my deep-as-a-canyon purse, I came into view of the prison yard. Despite the weather, many were outside milling about.

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Using all my resolve, I held firm my bundle and hurried into the building.

Inside, I was directed toward a visitation centre. "He will be here in a moment," I was told before I was left with my bundle.

I looked around. The walls were white with what looked like mold in the corners. The table that was in front of me looked like a table from my old high school art class, scratched and coloured on.

The door opened and I looked up, holding my bundle close. In walked my father, handcuffed and broken. He refused to make eye contact.

"What do you want?" he said, the question more like an accusation.

I took a deep breath. "I am here," I began, "because of this." I readjust my bundle. In the mess of blanket was a newborn. His eyes went wide but just for a moment before he hid every show of emotion.

"I'm married," I said. "I'm a mother." He didn't speak. He didn't move.

I waited a moment to see if I was able to notice any hint that the father I used to know was the same man before me.

"Fine," I said. "I have tried countless times to include you in my life; to include you in hers." I gestured to the sleeping baby in my arms. I stood up and walked to the door.

"Wait," my father said. "What's her name?"

I pause. "Charlotte Donn." Then I walked out of the room.