VICTORIA BELLA WASHINGTON;

Lowering myself out the window, clinging to that sheet-rope with gloved hands, was way harder than I’d thought. The fabric cut into my hands, and my arms ached as I slowly made my way down. I finally reached a spot where I’d have to jump, and I said a silent prayer, landing with a soft thud. I scanned the area—no alarms, no guards rushing over. So far, so good.

I waited, my heart pounding, for the guard change, and then sprinted to the shrubs by the gate. ...