The prison vending machine kept my last five pounds

Dear Delyara, I visited my brother in prison today. We had not spoken for eleven months because I told him I was tired of cleaning up the consequences of his choices. Last week, he wrote saying he was afraid he would not make it through the winter. I booked the visit. The room had plastic chairs, bolted tables, and vending machines where families buy snacks at prices designed to punish love. My brother looked thinner. He kept apologising, then changing the subject before the apology became too real. I put £5 into the machine to buy him crisps and a chocolate bar. The machine took the money and released nothing. I pressed every button until an officer told me to sit down. My brother laughed and said, “Still fighting machines for me.” It was the first time he sounded like the boy I grew up with. We spoke for forty minutes. Before leaving, we touched hands across the table because hugging was not permitted. On the train home, I kept thinking about the lost £5. It was a small amount, but it felt like the whole visit: money swallowed, nothing returned, and still I stood there pressing the button again because I could not stop hoping something would finally come out.