Freedom Lost After Ten Years

Synopsis

When I was seventeen, Andrew Grant grabbed an iron pipe from my doorstep and smashed it into the back of my stepfather's head fourteen times. My stepfather crumpled to the ground, motionless. Blood flowed through the cracks in the floor, reaching my bare feet. The police arrived quickly. As four officers pinned Andrew to the ground and cuffed him, he turned his head and called out to me, "Anna, you're free!" He smiled, his face dotted with blood. It was like he hadn't killed someone, but only swatted a mosquito blocking his path. Andrew went to prison after that. For ten years, I visited him every month. He grew from a teenager into a young man. His shoulders got broader, and he spoke less and less. The only thing that never changed was that every time we met, he'd press his hand to the glass and say, "Anna, wait for me." The day Andrew got out, I was waiting at the prison gate, holding an umbrella in my hand. There was no rain. Andrew glanced at the umbrella and didn't ask anything. He just took it, popped it open, and shielded me from the sun. That year, I was twenty-seven, and Andrew was twenty-eight. We got married. Andrew only had one hundred dollars to his name, and every job application he sent out got turned down. Nobody wanted to hire a guy who'd spent ten years behind bars. I told him, "Don't worry, I'll take care of you." He didn't say anything and just stubbed out his cigarette. Three days later, he headed to Metropolis on his own, starting out as a laborer on a construction site. Five years later, he hustled his way to the top and became a CEO. He had projects spanning commercial real estate and cultural tourism development, with holdings across prime locations in half the city. After we got married, every account he had used my birthday as the password. I never once tried to check his accounts. One day, he accidentally left his tablet on the couch. A message popped up: [Andrew, the baby kicked me today.] There was an ultrasound photo attached.