Tammy Franklin doesn't try to make much sense of her life story. By most standards, it's a miracle. She says simply, "I shouldn't be here."
By here, Tammy means the Oklahoma state prison where she sits sharing her story, a former prisoner with prison office keys in her pocket. By here, she also just means, "alive."
Many nights, the only light in her childhood home was the glow of the living room TV. Tammy would walk in to find her father drunk, if he was there at all. Her mom would be asleep on the couch. It was a dark, filthy place, as she remembers it. Feeling neglected, 13-year-old Tammy ran away to search for the love she craved. Instead she found abusive relationships, though she didn't know what to call them, and she began using drugs.
