It’s an odd sensation, stepping back into a world that has moved on without you. Whether it’s leaving a town after decades, retiring from a long-held career, or being released from prison, the change is a shock to the system. Today, my name is Zoe, and after ten years, I am free.
A whirlwind of emotions churned inside me. On one hand, I was thrilled; on the other, the uncertainty of what lay ahead was a cold weight in my stomach. The prison, with its rigid routines and familiar faces, had become a strange sort of home. Within those walls, I had forged friendships that became my family. We shared our stories, our fears, and our hopes, and those bonds were the only thing that kept me sane.
Packing a suitcase wasn’t necessary. I owned nothing. I was handed back the clothes I had arrived in a decade ago—a faded dress that now felt like a costume from another life. As I changed, I saw the envious glances from inmates who still had years left on their sentences. Their stares were a stark reminder of the freedom I was about to reclaim, and the life they still longed for.
“So, it’s your time, huh?” my cellmate remarked, her voice a mix of disbelief and sadness. “Wow. It really has been ten years.”
“Yeah, me neither. It feels weird,” I replied, my own voice wavering. For the past week, sleep had been a stranger, my mind consumed by the anxiety of release.
The day was bright and sunny as I stepped outside, squinting as the sun’s rays hit my face. A gentle breeze ruffled my hair. I looked around, but there was no one waiting for me. The only person in the world who would have been there, my mother, had passed away last year. I had never known my father. I was truly, completely alone.
I made my way to the bus stop. Once on board, I found a seat by the window and watched the world pass by. People outside moved with a freedom that felt alien to me. Leaning my head against the cool glass, I quietly sobbed, mourning the ten years that had been stolen from me—years filled with worry, fear, and a pain that seemed endless.
One of the things I had lost was my career. I held a degree in nursing and had been an outstanding specialist. The prison’s elderly doctor had once joked, “I know it sounds silly, but I wish you could stay here a bit longer. I’m going to have a hard time without your help.”
I hadn’t appreciated his humor. He treated the inmates like animals, but I had always been different. I believed everyone deserved compassion. With a lack of proper medicine in the prison, I had devised my own methods for treating ailments—migraines, arthritis, infections. My reputation as a healer spread, and soon, even the guards were coming to me for advice.
Now, riding the bus, I wondered who would ever hire an ex-convict with an armed robbery charge on her record. No one cared that I wasn’t a dangerous criminal, that I had been framed. The label was all that mattered.
It all started because of Zach. He was strong, brave, and bold, with a deep voice that used to make my heart race. I met him while I was providing care for his elderly grandmother, Mrs. Andrews. He was the devoted grandson, always courteous, showering her with gifts. His kindness was a mask, and I was too naive to see through it.
One day, he invited me to a lavish restaurant. We were drawn to each other, and soon, we were caught up in a passionate love affair. Our happiness was short-lived. One morning, the police knocked on my door. Despite my mother’s cries, they took me away.
As my case was investigated, the truth about Zach unraveled. He was no prince, but a deceitful crook. As a caregiver, I held keys to my patients’ homes. They trusted me. Zach had taken advantage of that trust, using my keys to rob several apartments. When he was caught, he shifted the blame entirely onto me, painting me as the mastermind. My life crumbled. I was on the brink of ending it all when an older inmate named Amy saved me.
Amy was serving time for killing her abusive husband. She was wise and kind, and she became my rock. “Don’t even think about that, Zoe,” she had warned me firmly. “You’re so young and beautiful. Whatever happens, just keep doing good and forget about the past. You’ll see. Mark my words.” Her words became my mantra, a source of comfort during my darkest moments.
The bus reached my stop. I stepped out and looked around. My favorite coffee shop was gone, replaced by a bank. The once-familiar neighborhood was now filled with new shops and buildings. I walked towards my childhood home. The yard was overgrown, the front porch where my mother and I used to talk for hours was now empty and lifeless.
I walked into the silent house and sank onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. I imagined my poor mother, crying alone, unable to afford a good lawyer to help me. The pain was overwhelming. But I was determined not to shed any more tears. I stood up, walked to the mirror, and forced a smile.
“Come on, pull yourself together,” I muttered to my reflection. “No complaints, no regrets. You can do this.”
With renewed determination, I set to work, cleaning the house that held so many memories, both happy and sad.
A week later, my old friend Hannah called. She had been in touch with my mother and learned of my release. It felt so good to hear a friendly voice.
“So, what’s the plan now?” Hannah asked.
“I need a job, to start,” I replied.
“Actually, you know what? We need to meet. I think I can help you with that,” she said, her voice suddenly animated. “I was offered a very well-paying job recently, but I can’t leave my current one. Why don’t you take it? Don’t even worry about the resume. Nobody cares about it at that job. Trust me.”
Hannah told me about a wealthy family looking for a caregiver who could handle intense stress. Their son had been in a terrible car accident and was now paralyzed. He had a nasty personality, and many caregivers had quit after just a few days. The father was desperate and willing to hire anyone, regardless of their background.
When Hannah mentioned the salary, my eyes widened. It was enough to live on for a year, enough to afford a proper tombstone for my mother’s grave. Despite my apprehension, I agreed to give it a try.
Three days later, I stood in front of a massive mansion. A stern-looking security guard demanded my ID before allowing me inside. As I walked through the grand entrance, I felt a sense of awe at the opulence that surrounded me. The house was pompous and grand, unlike anything I had ever seen. A servant led me through endless corridors to a massive hall that reminded me of a train station. Enormous chandeliers hung from a ceiling so high I felt like I was at the bottom of a well.
A gray-haired man sat at a large oak table in the center of the room. He gestured for me to sit. His cold, intelligent eyes stared directly at me. He was impeccably dressed, and every detail of his appearance exuded wealth and power.
“My name is Frank Duncan,” he introduced himself, his voice smooth and measured. “I’m Justin’s father. My son is ill, and I need someone patient and experienced to care for him. I don’t tolerate people who get hysterical over trivial matters. If you’re the type to make a scene, you can leave right now. I need you to be honest with me. Are you up for the challenge?”
I nodded, my heart pounding. Relieved, Frank picked up his phone. A few moments later, an old lady entered the hall.
“Zoe, this is Mrs. Wrigley,” Frank said. “Mrs. Wrigley, this is Zoe. She’ll be taking care of Justin. Please show her everything she needs to know.”
His demeanor had changed; he had lost interest in me almost immediately. Mrs. Wrigley, however, turned out to be a sweet and tactful person. She gave me a warm smile and showed me around the mansion, giving me detailed instructions on how to care for Justin and warning me about his difficult behaviors.
“He can be quite stubborn,” she confided, “but he’s a good boy at heart. He just needs someone patient.”
Finally, she led me to a small but cozy room that would be my own. “You can take a shower, wear the uniform, and start your work,” she said kindly. “Call me when you’re ready. I will introduce you to Justin.”
Later that evening, Mrs. Wrigley led me to the living room, which looked more like a throne room. Sitting on a plush sofa was a beautiful woman, Cassandra Duncan, Frank’s wife. She greeted me warmly, and we quickly established a rapport.
“Welcome, Zoe,” she said, her smile genuine. “I know you’ve probably heard a lot about Justin, but he’s not a monster. He’s a bit spoiled, and the accident changed him, but deep down, he’s a good person. As a stepmother, Justin can’t stand me, but I hope you’ll be able to establish a good relationship with him.”
Her kindness was a balm to my frayed nerves. Then, it was time to meet Justin. He looked a lot like his father, with the same sharp features and piercing eyes. He was sitting in an armchair, staring into the crackling fire, and he didn’t acknowledge my presence.
Undeterred, I walked up to him. “Hello, Justin. My name is Zoe. I’m going to be your caregiver from now on.”
He remained silent. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he turned his head to look at me, his gaze cold and piercing. “I don’t need your help,” he said flatly. “I can take care of myself.”
“I understand,” I replied evenly. “But I’m here to make things easier for you.”
“You need to come with me for an inspection,” I said, my tone neutral.
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” he roared back.
I ignored his outburst and gently began pushing his wheelchair towards the medical room. A stream of expletives rained down on me, but having spent ten years in prison, I was no stranger to verbal abuse. Despite his antics, I calmly inspected him, checking his vital signs. The accident had left him with severe injuries, but his arms still moved, and his reflexes were intact. It wasn’t the worst case I had seen.
Back in my room, I remembered a unique physical therapy technique I had developed in prison—a combination of yoga, massage, and strength training. The next day, I approached Justin with the idea.
“Go away,” was his response.
But I didn’t back down. I rolled up his sleeves and gave him a tranquilizer to help him relax. Life in the mansion continued. Justin kept me busy with his needs and his tantrums. He threw things, he insulted me, but I remained calm. One day, during a reflex check, he spat in my face. I stood up straight and addressed him in a quiet but firm voice.
“Mr. Duncan, I envy your boldness. I am an ex-convict, by the way. Are you really not scared?”
To my surprise, he looked at me with renewed interest. He asked me what I had done.
“Murder and dismemberment,” I replied proudly, without flinching.
After that, he stopped spitting and insulting me. He seemed to have a newfound respect for me.
A month later, Mr. Duncan summoned me. “What have you decided? Are you staying?” he asked.
“Until I’m finished with my course, yes,” I replied.
“Good job. You remind me of Joan of Arc. You have the same proud poise. I’m glad you’re not giving up on him.” Frank went on to explain that Justin was depressed not only because of his injuries, but also because of the betrayal of his ex-fiancée, Christine. At a party, she had started dancing with another man to make Justin jealous. He had lost his temper and driven recklessly, causing the crash. She had walked away with a few scratches; he was now bound to a wheelchair.
“I promise he will get up,” I said quietly to Frank. His cold eyes filled with tears.
“You know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I’m not a perfect father. I’ve done so much evil in my life. This fortune of mine is stained with blood. I guess I’m paying for it now.”
“When I was in prison,” I told him, “a wise old woman once told me, ‘Do good and forget about it.’ Perhaps you need to do the same.”
Frank wept quietly. Then he stood up and hugged me. “You are a guardian angel,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
The anniversary of my mother’s passing was approaching, and I asked for some time off to put a tombstone on her grave. Frank agreed. When I returned to the mansion three days later, I found Cassandra upset, her bags packed.
“I have to say goodbye, Zoe,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Justin slandered me. He told Frank I had been cheating on him. Frank didn’t even want to hear my side of the story.”
Furious, I stormed into Justin’s room and slapped him across the face. “You rascal! If she leaves, I’m leaving too! You can keep feeling sorry for yourself in your miserable fate!”
Justin, shocked, screamed back, “I don’t care! It must have been fun partying while you were getting paid so much, huh? You’re all the same. Can be bought and sold.”
“How dare you!” I cried.
His eyes were red with madness. He grabbed me and started shaking me furiously. I jerked out of his arms and ran.
“Stop!” he screamed in desperation, getting up from his wheelchair. “I said stop! I hate you, you fool! I can’t live without you!” He fell to the floor.
I froze, stunned. My method had worked. He had stood on his own. I ran back and helped him into his wheelchair. Suddenly, he hugged me and kissed me. “I love you more than anything in the world. I thought I was going to die of jealousy.”
I was crying. “Why did you hurt Cassandra?” I asked. “Apologize. Please.”
He immediately dialed her number. That night, in front of his father, he begged for her forgiveness. “Cassandra, I was an a-hole. I would get on my knees if I could. I’m so sorry.” He kissed her hands and cried.
Cassandra smiled. “Alright. You will get well and have a chance to get on your knees, I think.”
Justin confessed his love to me and asked for my hand. I was taken aback, but over the next few weeks, he did everything to prove his love. I started to see a different side of him—kind, caring, and compassionate. I started to fall in love with him, too.
One day, on a beautiful beach, he asked me to marry him. Without hesitation, I said yes. We were married in a beautiful ceremony in the mansion’s gardens. Frank blessed us.
Justin eventually did get back on his feet. He walked with a cane, but I laughed and told him, “This is just the beginning. You’re going to run one day.”
Mr. Duncan invested most of his fortune into a new, state-of-the-art clinic that offered free medical care to the community. I was the manager. It became a beacon of hope for the less fortunate, and I was so proud of what we had accomplished.
Justin, meanwhile, found his calling as a motivational speaker, using his experience to inspire others. Our love only grew stronger. We were a true power couple, working together to make the world a better place. We had both been given a second chance, and we were determined to make the most of it.
