Jessie was never rescued, only reshaped.
Years of abuse have worn her thin, leaving behind a ghost of a woman doing everything she can to protect her daughter from the monster in their home. Colt, charming to outsiders and terrifying behind closed doors, controls every breath she takes. He’s not just abusive, he’s delusional, violent, and terrifyingly devout. He twists scripture into justification, frames pain and control as love, and wields God like a weapon. The law sees but does nothing.
But survival has a time limit.
When Jessie realizes her daughter’s future is beginning to mirror her own past, something inside her breaks for good. What follows isn’t a cry for help, it’s a desperate, irreversible act of mercy.
Trading Prisons is a psychological thriller rooted in the brutal, silent epidemic of domestic violence, a raw exploration of generational trauma, religious manipulation, and the unspeakable choices survivors are forced to make when no one comes to save them.
Jessie was never rescued, only reshaped.
Years of abuse have worn her thin, leaving behind a ghost of a woman doing everything she can to protect her daughter from the monster in their home. Colt, charming to outsiders and terrifying behind closed doors, controls every breath she takes. He’s not just abusive, he’s delusional, violent, and terrifyingly devout. He twists scripture into justification, frames pain and control as love, and wields God like a weapon. The law sees but does nothing.
But survival has a time limit.
When Jessie realizes her daughter’s future is beginning to mirror her own past, something inside her breaks for good. What follows isn’t a cry for help, it’s a desperate, irreversible act of mercy.
Trading Prisons is a psychological thriller rooted in the brutal, silent epidemic of domestic violence, a raw exploration of generational trauma, religious manipulation, and the unspeakable choices survivors are forced to make when no one comes to save them.
Heavy footsteps jolted her awake, dragging her from restless dreams into a harsher reality. The sunlight streamed through the window, warm and golden, but it felt like an intruder. She turned her face away, yearning for rain—cold, gray skies that matched the life she now endured.
The boots grew louder, each step pounding against the floor like a countdown. They stopped outside her daughter’s room.
Three sharp knocks. Authoritative. Final.
“Jessie, I’d like to speak with you.” His voice was deep and unyielding, each word carrying the weight of command. It reminded her of a child being scolded, except she wasn’t a child. She wasn’t even sure what she was anymore.
She hesitated, her hand hovering over the door handle. Every instinct screamed to stay silent, to shrink further into the shadows. But she couldn’t. Against her better judgment, she opened the door, her movements slow and cautious, as if summoning the courage to face a storm. She felt so small in his presence. He towared over her, his height casting a shadow that seemed to swallow her whole. She forced herself to look up, her chin trembling, her resolve fragile.
His eyes met hers. Sharp. Focused. Predatory. They didn’t just see her; they dissected her, stripped her of any armor she thought she had left. In that gaze, she saw no warmth, no trace of the man he had once pretended to be. Only control, and the satisfaction of knowing she was too afraid to move. Jessie swallowed hard, her heart thudding in her chest. She gripped the edge of the door, anchoring herself as his gaze bore into her. He leaned in slightly, enough to make the space between them feel suffocating.
“We need to talk about your attitude,” he began, his voice deceptively calm but tinged with warning.
“My… attitude?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher. “Yes, your attitude. The way you’ve been acting lately—snippy, distant, like you’re too good for this family.”
Her stomach twisted. She’d barely spoken a word the past two days, careful not to provoke him. How could silence be seen as defiance?
“I—I’m not trying to act that way,” she stammered, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.
“Don’t interrupt me,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. She flinched, and he smirked, as if satisfied by her reaction. “Do you even realize how disrespectful you’ve been? I work my ass off to provide for this family, and what do I get in return? A wife who barely acknowledges me. A wife who acts like she’s a victim in her own home.”
The accusation stung, even though she knew it was a lie. She wanted to defend herself, to remind him of the meals she cooked, the endless cleaning, the way she tiptoed around his moods like walking on glass. But she knew better. Defense would only escalate his anger.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice cracking. He tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he enjoyed taking apart.
“Are you? Because sorry doesn’t fix the disrespect. Sorry doesn’t fix this marriage.”
His words hung In the air like a threat. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, willing herself not to cry. That would only feed his need for control.
“I’ll do better,” she said softly, hating herself for the submission in her tone. His smirk returned, colder this time.
“You’d better. Because I don’t think I can keep putting up with this much longer. And trust me, Jessie, you don’t want to see what happens if I decide I’ve had enough.” He straightened, his shadow retreating as he stepped back from the door. “That’s all I needed to say. You can go now.”
She nodded quickly, closing the door before he could change his mind. Her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, silent tears streaming down her face. The walls of her daughter’s room felt like the only place she was safe, and even here, his voice lingered like a ghost.
Jessie’s phone buzzed on the dresser, startling her. Wiping her tears quickly, she grabbed it, afraid the sound might catch his attention.
It was her sister, LeAnn. Her heart steadied slightly. Last night, in a rare moment of clarity, Jessie had called her sister to ask if she needed the antibiotics Jessie had stored in case of emergencies. It was an excuse to escape for even a little while, but one that wouldn’t raise suspicions. Her sister always played along, understanding without needing an explanation. Jessie picked up, keeping her voice low.
“Hey.” She smiled through her tears, wiping them away like LeAnn could see them through the phone.
“Are you still good for me to swing by and grab those antibiotics?” LeAnn asked casually, the code between them clear.
“I was actually thinking I could drop them off,” Jessie said, her words measured. “I could bring Remy and visit for a little while if that’s okay.”
“Of course. You know you’re always welcome here.” Leann replied.
The warmth in her sister’s voice made Jessie’s chest tighten. For a brief moment, she felt the faint glimmer of hope.
“Okay. I’ll head over soon.”
As she hung up, Jessie moved quickly, stuffing essentials into her bag. She knew better than to act hurried. Any sign of excitement or relief might set him off. Jessie was halfway through packing when she heard his voice behind her.
“Where are you going?”
She turned, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. He stood large and tall. Arms crossed exposing the size of his biceps. The doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“My sister needs antibiotics,” she said carefully, keeping her voice calm. “I was going to drop them off and visit for a little bit. I’ll take the Remy.” His eyes flicked to her bag and back to her face.
“You’re always running to her.” he muttered, his tone sharp enough to sting.
“It’s just for a little while.” she replied softly, avoiding his gaze.
For a moment, he said nothing, only watching her. Then his shoulders loosened slightly, and his tone shifted, softening like honey poured over ice. “Before you go, I need to say something.”
She hesitated, her pulse quickening. He stepped closer, and her instincts screamed at her to keep her distance, but her feet stayed rooted.
“I’ve been thinking about us,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “About how hard things have been lately. And it’s my fault. I realized through retaking our marriage crisis course, how I’ve been dictating instead of discussing. I wasn’t aware how my actions were making you feel. ”
Her breath caught as he moved closer, lifting his large hand to the back of her neck, his touch warm and firm, not threatening but disarmingly intimate. She stiffened, but he didn’t let go. His thumb brushed the nape of her neck as he held her, coaxing her to meet his eyes.
“I know I haven’t been the man you deserve,” he said. His eyes, sharp and focused, now seemed almost… apologetic. “And I hate that I’ve hurt you.” She felt her walls quiver but held them steady. “You’re everything to me, Jessie. I don’t want to lose us.” His voice cracked, just slightly, but it was enough to tug at her.
She swallowed hard.
“I don’t want to lose us either,” she whispered, her voice faltering.
He offered her a small, broken smile. “Then let me make it up to you. I was thinking… maybe we could go away for the weekend. Just the two of us.”
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. She wanted to believe in this moment, in him. But reality pressed in like a heavy weight.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice trembling. "the custody battle with Kieran. I can’t leave her right now. I need to stay close to home… to her.”
His brow furrowed, but instead of snapping, he nodded slowly, as though processing her words. “You’re right,” he said after a moment. “That’s more important.” Relief flooded her, but it was short-lived.
“Then what about just one night?” he offered, his hand still resting on her neck, grounding her in place. “We could go dancing. I know how much you love it.” She blinked at him, stunned. “You always say I hate it,” he continued, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “And I do. But for you, I’ll do it. Just one night, to remind you that I can still make you happy.”
Her defenses wavered. Dancing. He despised it, always claiming it was a waste of time, but she loved it. The idea of him offering to do something he hated for her… it felt monumental.
“You’d really go dancing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“For you?” His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle against her skin. “Of course.”
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. Against all reason, against all logic, she felt herself softening, crumbling under the weight of his words and touch.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “One night would be wonderful, my love.” His smile widened, he grabbed her face gently with both hands, gazing into her eyes, and then he pulled her into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her like a vice disguised as a sanctuary.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. “You’ll see, Jessie. Things are going to get better. I promise.”
As he held her, the bag at her feet felt impossibly heavy, like the weight of her fleeting chance at freedom.
Alicia Dawn’s Trading Prisons is a haunting and unflinching psychological thriller that takes readers into the intimate horror of domestic abuse, not through sensationalism, but through quiet, brutal truths. The story follows Jessie, a woman caught in a cycle of trauma that spans generations, environments and relationships. As her story unfolds, it becomes painfully clear that survival isn’t always liberating—and that some prisons are built not from walls, but from memory, shame, and resignation. The book promises—and delivers—on dark themes, twisty plotlines, and emotional high-stakes. However, the execution leaves something to be desired.
While Trading Prisons tackles urgent and emotionally raw themes, the writing style often pulled me out of the experience. One of my biggest frustrations was the repetitive, overly expository prose. The author frequently spells out what the characters are feeling or what a moment is supposed to mean, often using the same ideas or metaphors multiple times—as if the reader might miss the point without reinforcement. For example, Colt is described repeatedly as Jessie’s "warden," "executioner," and "monster," with little variation in how his cruelty is framed. Likewise, Jessie’s realization that she’s moved from one prison to another is revisited so often, with similar phrasing, that it starts to feel more like a motif being hammered in than a revelation unfolding. The emotional stakes are already high, but the writing doesn’t trust readers to sit with the discomfort—it insists on narrating it. What could have been haunting and visceral often came across as melodramatic and overstated, making me wish for more restraint and confidence in the reader’s ability to feel the story without constant emotional signposting. The narrative moves quickly, and there are undeniably moments of suspense that pull you in. Around the halfway mark, a major twist adds intrigue and raises questions about the nature of love, trust, and justice. For readers who enjoy thrillers with heavy emotional undercurrents and mature content, this book won’t shy away from difficult subject matter. That said, Trading Prisons suffers from uneven pacing and characterization. While Colt, Cliff and Jessie are given some depth, the supporting characters often feel like archetypes—more functional than fully realized. The book tends to “tell” rather than “show,” with long passages of exposition that distance the reader from the emotional core of the story. Time jumps between scenes also create a bit of disorientation, pulling you out of the flow just as the tension builds.
Let’s get a little technical: Thematically, this is not a light read—featuring suicide, sexual violence, and trauma. These elements are re intense and the book’s handling of them may not feel nuanced enough for all readers. The ending, while emotionally charged, lands with a sense of predictability rather than surprise, which weakens its impact. The novel doesn’t rely on a traditional plot twist or a clean redemption arc. Instead, it draws its power from introspection and emotional disintegration. Jessie’s reflections are some of the most poignant in the book. “How many prisons have I built for myself?” she asks. From her abusive childhood home to her time working in a club, through the suffocating grip of addiction and ultimately into the arms of her husband and abuser Colt, Jessie’s life is framed as a sequence of cages she mistook for freedom. Each chapter of her life promised relief, but ultimately delivered a new form of confinement. What makes this story even more devastating is how clearly it shows the impact of generational trauma. Jessie clings to the hope that her young daughter, Kieran, is too young to understand the violence around her. Yet, the cruel truth shatters this hope: “Children always see.” The author dares to confront the raw, unflinching reality—trauma isn’t just passed down through actions, but stealthily seeped into silences, into the very fabric of their lives. Kieran becomes a haunting mirror of Jessie’s pain, a fragile child quietly absorbing fear, shame and helplessness before she can even form the words to name them.
Colt, Jessie’s husband, is written with terrifying precision. He’s not a chaotic or impulsive abuser—he’s calm, deliberate and smug. His cruelty is strategic. Whether it's punishing Jessie physically under the guise of saving her in the name of religion (ew), psychologically tormenting her with calm manipulation or killing her dog to eliminate her last emotional tether, every action is designed to tighten his control. He’s the kind of man who smiles while destroying someone. When Jessie references Colt as “Her warden. Her husband. Her executioner.” the language here is really sharp, almost clinical. It’s not just “abuser” or “husband”—it’s the warden (who keeps her trapped), the husband (who acts like he cares), and the executioner (who slowly destroys her spirit, her safety, her hope for the future). Men like Colt don’t happen by accident; they’re the builders of fear. There are many a moment when he says something along the lines of: “Stop squirming... This is what happens when you disrespect me.” Colt derives his identity from her helplessness. He doesn’t want love, partnership, or even sex—he wants obedience, silence, surrender. That he chooses these moments of dominance not in heat or chaos, but calmly, coldly, makes him monstrous. In fact, Colt believes he's just trying to set things straight, but his way of correcting feels more like an attack. He tends to use “love” in a way that hurts, especially in moments such as the following quote, when he says to her “You’ve forgotten your place, Jessie. My job is to remind you.”. He sees himself as the teacher, the authority figure who’s meant to restore order. But in the process, he blends punishment with love, making Jessie question her self-worth and her perception of what's real.That’s why we don’t hate Colt just because he hurts Jessie—we hate him because he intends to. Because he constructs a world where she loses her voice, her agency, her loved ones, and even her child’s future. And he does it all without shame—only pride.
The novel’s emotional high point isn’t in the violence itself, but in Jessie’s quiet resignation. There’s no dramatic escape or rescue scene; instead, there’s a heavy stillness as Jessie realizes she has nothing left to shield her daughter from a life of fear—except to bring their stories to an end. In those final moments, love, mercy and tragedy all blur together. And here the tragedy isn’t just what happened to her—it’s that she believed she had found freedom, only to learn it was another cage. When she asked herself “How many prisons have I built for myself?” this question is not rhetorical—it’s a moment of soul-crushing clarity. Jessie realizes she’s never truly been free. Each phase of her life—childhood, adulthood, relationships, addiction—has offered only the illusion of escape, while quietly reinforcing cycles of control and self-erasure.
Trading Prisons is a dark, emotional thriller that really makes you think about the mental prisons we create for ourselves and others. The story has a solid premise and packs some powerful, intense moments. While it doesn’t quite fully explore all of its psychological depths, I’m definitely excited to see what this author comes up with next and will be keeping an eye on their future work. I'm emotionally giving this book 4 out of 5 chilling stars. I’d recommend it to readers who love twisty plots more than deep character development and can handle some heavy themes without expecting perfection in literary finesse.