Chapter 3
At seven, the lock clicked and the door swung open.
Emily came in, arms loaded with two bags of groceries.
She was rocking a navy blue business suit, her hair in a low ponytail, and you could tell from her face she'd had one hell of a day at work.
As soon as she saw me, her eyes lit up.
"You're out."
She wasn't asking. She already knew.
"I'm out," I said, standing up from the couch.
She set the groceries down on the shoe cabinet, hurried over, and wrapped her arms around me.
Her grip wasn't strong, but she hugged me tight.
Her face pressed against my chest.
Her voice was muffled against my chest, "I've waited so long for you."
I patted her gently on the back.
"It's been tough on you," I said.
She looked up, her eyes a little red, but she wouldn't let herself cry.
"Why are you crying?" I grinned, giving her nose a gentle pinch. "Your husband's back. Come on, cheer up."
"Who's crying?" she huffed, turning her head away and sniffing. "I'm making dinner."
Emily.
Truth is, our relationship is downright crazy.
She was a legal aid attorney, who got assigned to my appeal at the detention center two years back.
First time we met, she walked in holding my case file, sat down, sized me up for three seconds, and the first thing she said was...
"Your case has more holes than a sieve. Whoever put you in here must have rocks for brains."
I couldn't help but laugh.
After that, she started coming by every week.
At first, it was all about the case.
But even after the case was over, she kept showing up every week.
She'd bring me books, practice exams, and all the latest news from the outside world.
One time, Emily walked in with her lips cracked and dry, so I asked what was up.
She told me she'd been stuck in traffic for two hours and didn't bring any water.
It's a forty-kilometer drive from the city to the detention center.
She made that trip every week for a year and a half, no matter the weather.
Then one day, she sat down across from me and slid a piece of paper over.
It was a marriage application.
"If you want, I'll handle all the paperwork. We can even get married right here, inside," she said.
I looked at her.
"Does your dad know?" I asked.
"I told him," she replied.
"How'd he take it?" I asked.
"He smashed a coffee cup," she said, totally unfazed. "But it was the one he never liked anyway."
I laughed.
"So, what do you really want out of this?" I asked.
She looked up at me, dead serious.
"I want you for who you are. I’ve pored over your case a hundred times; there’s no doubt you were wronged. And..."
She paused.
"You're a hundred times sharper than any guy out there who thinks he's free."
And just like that, we got married right there in the detention center.
The guard acted as our witness, and the other inmates were clapping and hollering from behind the bars.
The whole scene felt like something out of a movie.
But right then, for once, my heart actually felt warm.
This woman chose me when I was at my absolute lowest.
This wasn't charity, not some 1.5-million-dollar pity check.
It was a year and a half of her showing up for me, rain or shine, and a marriage application.
So when Claire asked me today, "How could you get married in there?" Man, it honestly made me want to laugh.
You were the one who threw me into the abyss.
But someone handed me a light when I was at my lowest.
And now you think you can just buy your way out of it with 1.5 million bucks?
Too late.
It's way too late for that.
*****
Emily was busy in the kitchen, and I leaned against the doorframe, watching her.
"Jonathan called me today," I said.
The words were a shot to her.
Her hand froze mid-chop.
"What did he say?" she asked.
"Told me not to stir things up," I replied.
Emily snorted, chopping harder now. "He's got some nerve."
"He doesn't know about us," I said.
"He'll find out sooner or later," Emily said, not even looking back. "And so what if he does? My dad might've smashed a cup, but after reading your case file, he said something."
"What did he say?" I asked.