Will Smith didn't care he was a fully grown sixteen year old.

He didn't care that the cell he was in was full of six other men.

He didn't care that the other brothers that had put him there in the first place were sat in an identical cell opposite him.

He didn't care that the tears were flowing down his cheeks.

He didn't care that he was showing he was frightened.

All Will Smith cared about was clinging to his Mom through the bars of the cell, begging her not to leave him alone in there.

"Please, Mama, don't..." he stammered, wiping his eyes and cheeks with the back of his hand, wincing slightly as he placed pressure onto the deep purple bruise over his right eye socket . "Please don't leave me,"

"It's OK, baby," She replied, holding him close, not caring that the metal bars were digging into her chest and her arms as she placed a protective hand over the back of his head. "I'm not gonna leave you,"

Vy Smith loved her son to death and she was doing this for him.

He'd broken this time, a scared little boy who just wanted to go home. Her scared little boy.

But next time he wouldn't break, next time it wouldn't be as new and scary.

If she ever wanted him to have a better life for himself, she knew he had to get out of Philly. He had to escape.

If he didn't, this was only the first of many visits for her to come and pick him up from jail.

Letting him go was the only option.