For most people on the Eastern seaboard, the words ‘Fifth Street Bridge’ have become a metonymy for disaster, pain, sorrow, greed, cruelty, and murder, but, for those people who lived it, the Fifth Street Bridge has become so much more. All Richard Mitchell wanted from life was to teach, until he was too old to do so, and then retire to a spot down by a slow stream that he and his wife, Fancy, loved. It was his dream, one that was obliterated by a drunk driver going the wrong way, wrenching his heart and soul from his chest. He couldn’t possibly imagine life getting any worse. He was wrong. Suzana Cranston knew that her husband, Harold, had his faults. He was a sniveling, money grabbing coward and a spineless squander; however, the way he was running through her trust fund troubled her greatly. Her family and friends wanted her to leave him. It was just something that she couldn’t do. He was her problem and just someone she was going to have to deal with. He was the worst part of an otherwise good life. She was wrong. Sylvia Townsend was a wealthy heiress. She loved her husband, Michael, with all her heart. He had shown her love and attention where before she had found little. He was the bright spot in her life and she expected him to spend the rest of his life devoted to her. She was wrong. Bubba grew up in an institution, and, as such, didn’t know any other way to live. Love, compassion, and friendship were words that didn’t hold meaning for him. GreenHaven was all that he knew and understood. He expected to remain there until he died. He was wrong. The Fifth Street Bridge was the epicenter the focal point that sent each of them crashing headlong into a pit of despondency and misery, a place that daily dealt out death, torture, and desolation an ending that started with the simple phrase welcome to Greenhaven.