A Rose from the Prison

The heavy iron door of the prison slammed shut behind me with a loud bang. The sunlight was so bright it made me squint—I hadn't seen the sky this clear in ten years. I raised my hand to shield my forehead; light slipped through my fingers and fell onto my faded, worn-out pants. In the distance, a black car was parked, gleaming and clearly expensive. I knew who had come to pick me up—Jared James. He wore a gray trench coat, his hair neatly combed. He looked a little more mature than ten years ago, and a bit heavier too. He strode over quickly, holding a black coat. "Christine, it's chilly—put this on." I took a step back, avoiding the hand he reached out. "Mr. James, I'm good." I called him Mr. James, deliberately putting some distance between us. His hand froze in mid-air, his eyes darkening. "Christine, I know you hate me." The word "hate" is too mild; what I feel is a scar that's already healed over, not something I can simply call "hate". "What about Nikki?" I changed the subject, my voice so calm it was like I was talking about someone else. He hesitated, swallowing hard. "She's at home, said she prepared dinner." "Are you married?" I kept asking, my eyes locked on the wedding ring on his left hand. The ring gleamed, stabbing painfully at my eyes. "...Yeah, the wedding happened three years ago." His voice dropped a little. "Not bad." I nodded and turned, heading toward the bus stop. He grabbed my arm firmly. "Christine, back then, I never expected the sentence to be so harsh. I thought it would be at most two years..." "Never expected?" I laughed, dry and bitter. "Jared, you're a judge. How could you not know the maximum punishment for falsely accusing someone of stealing a dowry?" His face instantly paled. He let go of my arm, his fingertips trembling slightly. "I was deceived by Nikki back then. She cried, saying you stole her dowry and even showed 'evidence'. I..." "Enough." I cut him off, not wanting to hear any more excuses. "Ten years—I spent ten years inside, counting every single day. You and your new bride had three peaceful years. What else is there to say?" He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but in the end, he just sighed. "Get in the car first, I'll take you to where you're staying." I didn't refuse him again, not because I'd softened. It was because I knew I was broke now—not even enough money for a bus fare.