I took the fall for my ex-husband’s mistress and spent eight years behind bars. The day I was released, my ex-husband, Julian Vance, showed up at a pharmacy with a swarm of reporters, kneeling before me to beg for a second chance. His eyes were red-rimmed as he held out a bouquet of vibrant roses. “Amara… I’ve waited eight years for you.” The reporters shoved their microphones in my face, urging me to kneel and thank him for his “devotion.” As Julian wrapped me in what looked like an affectionate embrace, he leaned close and whispered in a voice as cold as a venomous snake, “If you dare reject me, your father’s ventilator will be unplugged tomorrow.” I clenched my crippled right hand, ready to explode. Just then, an eight-year-old boy rushed over and threw his arms around Julian’s leg. “Daddy!” A heavily pregnant Chloe Mille suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me, tears streaming down her face. “The child is innocent…” Every camera instantly turned toward my bloodstained face. Then my own parents charged over. My mother slapped me so hard I crashed onto the floor. “You curse! Chloe is our real daughter!” I lay on the freezing tile, watching them surround the woman who had destroyed my life as they escorted her away like a hero. The pharmacy owner kicked me in the side. “Murderer. Get out!” As the rain poured down, I finally understood the truth. They hadn’t just wanted me to take the blame. They wanted me dead.
I spent eight long years in prison, taking the fall for my ex-husband’s mistress. The day I was released, he cornered me in a local pharmacy with a swarm of media cameras behind him. His eyes were red, and he dropped to his knees right in front of the flashing lenses, looking deeply devoted. “Amara, I have waited eight years for you. Let’s get remarried.” Dozens of blinding camera flashes went off in my face, nearly blinding me. Reporters aggressively shoved microphones right into my face. “Miss Sterling. Dr. Julian Vance has remained single for eight years just for you. He even wore your wedding ring to the International Medical Summit. You have been dodging him. Doesn’t your conscience hurt?” “As the felon who killed a patient back then, shouldn’t you be on your knees thanking Dr. Vance for his deep devotion now that you are out?” I stared at the man in front of me, dressed in his expensive, custom-tailored suit. My stomach churned with pure disgust. Eight years ago, I was the youngest chief trauma surgeon in New York. But just three days before Julian and I were supposed to register our marriage. His little assistant, Chloe Miller, made a fatal mistake during an operation. She accidentally severed a major artery, causing a VIP patient to bleed to death on the table. To protect Chloe, who was already pregnant with his child, Julian personally fabricated the surgical logs. He used my sick parents’ lives to blackmail me into taking the plea deal. Then, he played the righteous hero in court. Tears in his eyes, he personally testified against me and sent me to a maximum-security prison. He climbed to the top over my shattered bones. Now, he was the powerful Chief of Medicine at New York Grace Hospital. Meanwhile, my right hand had been brutally broken in prison by inmates he hired. The nerves were completely ruined. Now, my hand shook so badly I couldn’t even hold a medicine bottle steady. Julian remained on one knee on the dirty, muddy tile floor, holding a bouquet of bright red roses. The roses were dripping wet, their deep red color looking exactly like the blood that wouldn’t stop gushing from the patient’s artery on the operating table eight years ago. “Amara, come home with me. Whenever you’re ready, you can always come back to the hospital.” His voice cracked, his eyes brimming with tears. But as he leaned forward under the pretense of handing me the flowers. He whispered in my ear, his voice dropping to a freezing, ruthless murmur that only I could hear. “Amara, the hospital is up for the national prestigious ranking this week. If you dare reject me in front of these cameras, believe me, I’ll pull the plug on your father’s ventilator tomorrow.” My body went completely numb. Staring at this monster, my teeth rattled with pure rage. This was his so-called “deep devotion.” The reporters were still swooning over his greatness, some even tearing up at the scene. I clenched my crippled right hand, preparing to tear his hypocritical mask off even if it cost me my life. But a sudden cry broke the silence.
“Daddy! Mommy and I finally found you!” An eight-year-old boy pushed through the crowd and threw himself right into Julian’s arms. Chloe walked in elegantly, wearing a flowing dress that draped over her slightly swollen belly, flanked by two burly bodyguards. She still had that innocent, helpless look that made men want to protect her. She looked at me, a brief flash of smugness and contempt crossing her eyes. Then, turning to the reporters, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor right in front of me. “Amara, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been young and stupid back then, I wouldn’t have caused you to make that mistake during the surgery…” She wept beautifully, her tears like tiny daggers stabbing right into my chest. “Julian has waited for you for eight years, and I’ve lived with guilt for eight years. But I beg you, the children are innocent. Leo needs a father, and the baby in my belly is about to be born…” The cameras instantly whipped around to capture Chloe’s tear-stained face. Gasps filled the room. “Oh my God, Chloe has carried this guilt for eight years? She’s too kind!” “Amara Sterling, Chloe is pregnant! You’re a convicted felon, how can you be shameless enough to try to tear their family apart?” I stared at the shouting little boy. I had been in prison for exactly eight years. Which meant Chloe had given birth to this child the exact year I was locked up. While I was taking the fall for her, absorbing the curses of the public, they were already celebrating their new baby. While my right hand was being systematically broken in that dark cell, Julian and Chloe were playing happy family. Before I could speak, a harsh roar cut through the crowd from the entrance. “Amara! You shameless bitch! Are you trying to ruin our family the second you get out of prison?” My biological parents pushed through the crowd, panting heavily. The moment my mother reached me, she didn’t hesitate. She swung her hand and slapped me hard across my right cheek! Slap. The sharp crack echoed through the pharmacy. The force of her blow sent me crashing to the floor. My forehead slammed against the sharp corner of a metal medicine rack. Hot blood immediately trickled down, blurring my vision. My mother trembled with rage, pointing a finger at my face. “You curse! You spent eight years in prison and dragged our family’s name through the mud! If Chloe hadn’t sent us money and medicine every single day, your father would have died of his stroke last month!” My father, leaning heavily on a cane, limped over. He cast a disgusted look at me, then obsequiously helped Chloe up. “Sweetheart, please don’t get upset. This ungrateful brat is just jealous of you. We don’t have a daughter like her! You are our real daughter!” Lying on the freezing floor, looking through a veil of my own blood, I watched my biological parents fuss over the woman who had ruined my life. They despised me. They hated me. They wished I had died in prison so they could comfortably enjoy the wealth Julian and Chloe threw at them. Julian hugged Chloe protectively. Before leaving, he looked down at me with pity. “Amara, your parents are just emotional right now. I still owe you for what happened back then. Here is ten thousand dollars and my business card. Take it.” He pulled a thick stack of bills from his bespoke suit pocket and threw them in my bloody face like he was tossing scraps to a stray dog. The green bills fluttered down through the air, hitting my swollen face. It stung. The happy family of three, flanked by my parents and escorted by the admiring press, marched out of the store. Tom, the pharmacy owner, walked over with a dark face. He snatched the mop from my hands and spat on the floor. “Amara, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. My shop is a small business. I can’t afford to keep an ungrateful felon around! Pack your trash and get out!”
Tom’s words struck like a thunderbolt, ringing in my ears. I looked at my right hand, covered in dirt and blood. The knuckles were severely swollen from rheumatoid arthritis, and my fingers trembled uncontrollably from the permanent nerve damage. Eight years ago, these hands performed high-precision brain surgeries. Now, I couldn’t even grip a broom. “Tom, please, don’t fire me.” I bent my back, discarding every ounce of my dignity, and grabbed the hem of Tom’s shirt. “I don’t need wages. Just give me some scraps and let me sleep in the back storage room. Please…” Tom violently shook me off, throwing me back onto the damp, cold floor. “Amara, I saw the news. You killed someone, and Julian and Chloe have been incredibly generous to you. Instead of being grateful, you humiliated them in public!” “My pharmacy is in a tight-knit community. If the neighbors find out I hired a killer, who will buy medicine from me? Get out! Now!” He tossed my battered backpack out into the street like garbage. The zipper had broken back in prison. My few old clothes spilled into the muddy puddles, instantly stained black by the dirty water splashed by passing cars. The storm finally broke, rain pouring down in sheets. I clutched my soaked backpack, limping down the streets of the small town. As I passed the corner convenience store, the young clerk who usually smiled and called me “Dr. Sterling” while asking for advice on cold meds was now pointing his phone at me, whispering to his coworker. “See her? That’s the ungrateful felon ex-wife from the news. She looks decent, but her heart is black. She actually tried to bully a pregnant woman.” “Stay away from her. People like her are bad luck. Absolutely disgusting.” He spat on the pavement, just inches from my foot. I lowered my head, letting my wet hair cover my face, and ran into the rain. I tried to find work elsewhere in town. Clinics, pharmacies, even small diners. But the moment I walked in, they would see my deformed hand. Then they would look at the viral video playing on their phones, and their faces would instantly turn sour. “Sorry, we don’t hire murderers.” “Get lost. Don’t ruin our business. You’re bad luck!” By midnight, the rain had stopped. I had nowhere to go. I huddled under the rusted metal roof of a bus stop, shivering from the cold. I pulled my right hand out of my sleeve, trying to touch it with my left. Between my thumb and index finger, there was a jagged, hideous scar that looked like a centipede. It happened on my first night in prison eight years ago. Several female inmates used rusty nails to pierce and shred my hand nerves, inch by inch. That night, I fainted from the pain three times on the cold concrete floor. I thought it was a random prison assault back then. But looking back now… Who else but Julian and Chloe would be so terrified of my surgical hands? They didn’t just want me to take the fall. They wanted to permanently cripple me, ensuring I could never return to an operating table, never use my skills to clear my name! I bit my lip so hard it bled, my nails digging deep into my palms. Julian. Chloe. You say you owe me, but you clearly want me dead!
At 5:00 AM, my cheap phone vibrated loudly, breaking the silence of the bus stop. I stared at the caller ID, a number burned into my very soul. Laughing dryly, I swiped to answer. “Amara, I heard you got fired from the pharmacy. You don’t even have a place to stay now?” Julian’s voice was as gentle and caring as ever. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. “Did you put a tracker on me, Julian? Or are those reporters just your personal bloodhounds, watching me twenty-four hours a day so you can enjoy the show?” A soft chuckle came through the receiver, carrying the casual amusement of a predator playing with its prey. “Amara, you’re still as prickly as ever. I’m just looking out for you. In this world, who else actually gives a damn if you live or die?” “You’re thirty-two, you’ve spent eight years in prison, and your right hand is ruined. Do you honestly think any company in this country would hire you without my permission?” My breathing turned heavy, my eyes burning with absolute hatred. “You did this to me. Julian, you know exactly who altered those medical records, and you know exactly who hired those inmates to shred my nerves.” Julian’s voice suddenly turned freezing cold, carrying a sharp warning. “Watch your words, Amara. That case was closed years ago. If you start babbling about conspiracies now, people will just think you had a psychotic break in prison. Be a good girl. Come back to New York.” “I have already set everything up for you. There is an opening for a file clerk in the archives department at Grace Hospital. The pay isn’t high, but it’s enough to get you off the streets. And… Chloe is now the deputy chief of surgery. Since you’re so experienced, you can work as her personal technical advisor. Guide her a bit.” “You want me to assist the murderer who ruined my life? Guide her?” I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes, each word squeezed through my gritted teeth. “In your dreams, Julian! Even if I starve to death on this street, I will never go back to beg for your scraps or be your sick PR prop!” “Is that so?” Julian’s voice remained calm, almost pitying. “Amara, you’re always so stubborn. Do you really think you have a choice?” Before I could reply, loud, chaotic screaming erupted on his end of the line. Suddenly, my mother’s shrill, hysterical voice cut in. “Amara! You curse! Who did you offend out there?!” “The nursing home just threw your father and me out on the street with all our luggage! Your father still has his feeding tube in! They said our account is delinquent and pushed his wheelchair right onto the pavement!” “Julian said we could live here for free forever! Why did he change his mind? Did you offend him again, you ungrateful bitch? I swear, if your father dies on the street today, I will jump off the roof of this building! I’ll write a suicide note in blood blaming you!” My mother’s shrieking voice pierced through the speaker like a red-hot wire, wrapping tightly around my neck, making it impossible to breathe. I knew my parents too well. They were incompetent, selfish, and ignorant. When I got arrested, they didn’t hire a single lawyer for me. Instead, they forced me to confess quickly so I wouldn’t ruin my younger brother’s college prospects. Later, when Julian put them in a luxury nursing home. They immediately treated him and Chloe like their savior and viewed me as embarrassing garbage. If my father really died because his treatment was cut off, my mother would absolutely keep her word. She would commit suicide in front of the media to completely destroy whatever little reputation I had left. Julian took the phone back. His voice was smooth as silk again. “Amara, your parents are old. They can’t handle this kind of stress. If you get on the morning bus back to New York right now, the nursing home’s account will be funded in five minutes.” “You’re a smart girl. You know what to do. I’ll expect your employment paperwork in my office in three days.” The line went dead. The dial tone echoed in the empty bus stop, sounding like a chorus of mockery. I slowly bent over, burying my face in my knees, and finally let the tears pour out. Eight years ago, they stole my innocence, my career, and my hand. Eight years later, they were dragging me back to that hell, wanting to leash me like a dog at their feet just to show the world how “forgiving” they were. I squeezed the dirty, wet business card I had picked up from the puddle. Julian. Chloe. Since you refuse to let me go, since you are forcing me back to New York. Then I will see you in hell.
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