Todd and Julie Chrisley Reveal What it Was Like to See Each Other After Prison

Reunion After 28 Months: A Journey of Faith, Change, and Commitment

When asked how long they went without speaking, the answer came swiftly: 28 months. That’s over two years without a word — a period filled with uncertainty, emotional distance, and personal transformation.

But when the moment finally came and they saw each other again, it wasn’t strange or uncomfortable like some might expect. It was surreal, yes — but not awkward. Because for him, she had never really been gone.

“I carried her with me in my spirit every single day,” he said. “I thought about her constantly. She was a part of me, even when we were apart.” So when they embraced for the first time in all those months, it wasn’t a moment of awkward reacquaintance. It felt like coming home. “It wasn’t like meeting someone new.

I was coming back to the same woman I left — not the same in the literal sense, but the same in spirit. The same in my heart.”

Of course, they had changed. How could they not? “If we hadn’t changed in those 28 months, then what was it all for?” he said. “It would’ve been wasted time.” The experience — painful as it was — had been transformative.

While incarcerated, he formed bonds with fellow inmates whose stories moved him deeply. One woman, a 77-year-old inmate, left a lasting impression. “Unless God intervenes, she’s going to die in there,” he said, visibly emotional. “She could be any of our grandmothers.

She’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” But it wasn’t just her — there were countless young mothers, many with no prior criminal record, facing impossibly long sentences for mistakes that now seem grossly out of step with current legal standards.

“I can’t just walk away,” he said. “That’s a promise I’ve made — to myself and to them.” Even after being released, he’s stayed connected. He keeps in touch with the women who were released before him and is now on the visitation list for some of those who remain behind.

It’s about second chances, he says — something everyone deserves. “There are young people in prison for marijuana offenses, yet it’s nearly legal everywhere now. And still, we don’t make those laws retroactive.

These young men are in their 20s and early 30s. Let them come home. Let them get jobs. Let them pay taxes. And if they mess up again? Well, the prison doors aren’t going anywhere.”

His time behind bars didn’t just change him — it gave him a mission. And now, as he rebuilds his life outside, he’s determined not to forget those who are still waiting for their second chance.