At 22, Geoffrey was a man with a steady hand and a bright future, until a gavel strike silenced his world for a crime he never touched. For 43 years, the heavy iron of a cell was his only horizon. Now, at 65, he stands under an American sky that feels both vast and indifferent.

The world he left in his youth has moved on without him, replaced by glowing screens and a frantic pace he barely recognizes. In a society that often looks past a man with a gap in his history, Geoffrey is struggling to carve out a place where his name means more than a case number. He lives in a small, quiet workshop, pouring his decades of endurance into the only thing that remained his: the art of working leather.

Despite the bitterness of four lost decades, Geoffrey’s heart remained unhardened. The hardships didn't break his spirit; they refined it. He moves through the world with a profound, quiet grace, showing a deep-seated respect for every man and woman he encounters. To him, every person is a soul carrying a burden he may not see, and he treats them with the dignity he was so long denied.

He doesn't want pity; he wants to be a good citizen—a neighbor who helps, a craftsman who creates, and a man whose handshake still means something. Every stitch in his leather is a testament to his resilience and a slow, steady step toward reclaiming his name in the country he still calls home.