We’re Even Now

Three months pregnant, and my own husband sent me to prison.
Before signing the confession, I asked him one last time, Can I... not take the fall for this?
You're pregnant. You can apply to serve your sentence outside of prison. You won't suffer.
But Lila can't. She's not strong enough. Jail time would kill her.
He even made a promise. "Think of it as a sacrifice for our child's future. When you get out, we'll get married."
I asked him, "You once told me I owed her a life. Are we even now?"
Kim Vance nodded and said he would be grateful to me for the rest of his life.
So, I signed the confession.
But just before I walked through the prison gates, I terminated the pregnancy.
Later, Kim truly lost his mind.
He would grab me, his eyes bloodshot, and demand to know why I had killed his child.
I would just look at him, my gaze cold as ice.
"Because my child can't have a mother in prison, and a monster for a father."
"Everything that happened before I was naive."
"From this moment on, Kim."
"We're even."

1
The day I was released from prison, no one came to pick me up.
The guard walked me to the gate. Seeing the empty street outside, she asked how I would get home.
I didn't have a single dollar on me. The bag in my hand held the only clothes I owned, and it felt weightless.
Like my life, carrying no weight at all.
I squinted at the brilliant sun and smiled. "I'll figure it out. I may not have money, but I have feet."
The guard hesitated, reaching for her wallet.
"It's okay. My home isn't far from here. It's a quick walk," I said, declining her kindness. I picked up my bag and started the journey home.
I had expected no one would come, so before I went in, I had memorized the map.
From the prison to my apartment was a two-hour and seventeen-minute walk.
Not too far, really.
In a year and a half, the city hadn't changed much. The stadium that had been under construction before I went in was still only half-finished.
While waiting at a red light, my gaze drifted to a baby stroller next to me.
The mother noticed me looking and gave me a kind smile.
I smiled back. "How old is your little one?"
"One year."
"So cute," I said, bending down to make a silly face at the baby.
The baby gurgled, waving tiny fists in the air.
The light turned green. I straightened up and disappeared into the surging crowd.
I finally reached my front door just as dusk was settling.
The old security door was covered in a thick layer of dust. I found the spare key in the mailbox and let myself in.
On the shoe cabinet sat a framed photo. I picked it up, using my sleeve to wipe away the dust, and managed a faint smile.
"Mom, I'm home."

2
It took some time to reintegrate myself into society.
With a criminal record, finding a job was a struggle. To make ends meet, I took a job sorting packages at a logistics warehouse.
A week later, I collapsed on the warehouse floor and was rushed to the hospital by my coworkers.
The abortion, followed by the harsh reality of prison life, had taken its toll on my body. I couldn't push myself like I used to.
I had to quit. I signed up as a delivery driver, planning to save up for a couple of years and maybe start a small business.
These days, a bachelor's degree isn't worth much. A bachelor's degree with a prison record is worth even less.
Driving for a delivery service was still tough work, but it was better than the warehouse. The hours were flexible, which suited me.
I had a good weekend, and just before I was about to log off for the night, a large order came in with a high delivery fee.
The distance was far, and I worried my e-scooter didn't have enough charge. But I couldn't bring myself to pass up the money. I accepted the order.
The drop-off was at an exclusive, notoriously expensive private club. When I arrived, I called the customer, and he told me to bring it directly to his private room.
The delivery box was huge. I struggled to carry it, found the room, and knocked.
"Hi, your delivery. Please sign here."
"Just put it over there."
The familiar voice made my eyelashes tremble. I silently did as I was told, placing the box in a corner.
The room was alive with noise and laughter, filled with a dozen men and women. Luxury gift boxes were piled in a corner. In the center of the room, a magnificent three-tiered cake sat on a table.
I was about to leave when someone called out, "Hey, delivery girl, wait a second."
I froze.
"It's my birthday today. Please, have a slice of cake. Thanks for bringing our food this late at night."
I looked up. My face was mostly hidden by my helmet, so no one recognized me.
The woman standing before me had a face that was both beautiful and vulnerable. She smiled and held out a piece of cake.
Her name was Lila. She used to be my friend.
A sharp pain, like a shard of glass, pierced through me, so deep it felt like it was in my bones. It was hard to speak.
I took the cake, my voice raspy. "Thank you."
As I turned to leave, I didn't notice the figure that had appeared behind me.
By the time I saw him, it was too late to stop. I watched, helpless, as the cake splattered across his chest, ruining his shirt.
Kim looked down at the sticky mess, then up at me. He said nothing.
The room had fallen silent. Someone snickered. "That shirt's a goner. It's a fifteen-thousand-dollar shirt. Can you afford to replace that?"
"It's okay, don't be scared. It was an accident. We won't make you pay. You can go," Lila said, rushing over. She soothed me with a gentle voice while grabbing a napkin to clean Kim's shirt.
Kim didn't move. He just kept staring at me.
Then, he reached out and pulled off my helmet.

3
No one looks good after wearing a helmet for a long time.
The room was now completely silent. Even the music had stopped.
I smoothed down my messy hair and held out my hand to Kim. "Had enough of a look? Can I have my helmet back?"
"Is that Candy? You're out? So soon? Weren't you sentenced to three years?" someone in the room finally spoke.
I ignored them, my eyes fixed on Kim.
"Candy," Lila said, grabbing my wrist. "Why didn't you call me when you got out? There's so much I want to tell you."
I paid her no mind, my only goal to retrieve my helmet.
But Kim wouldn't let go.
I had to use some force, but I finally yanked it back.
"If you don't mind, a five-star rating would be appreciated," I said, forcing a smile. I put my helmet back on and walked out.
"Candy, don't you have anything to say?"
Kim's voice stopped me at the door. I turned, my gaze falling on Lila. My tone was flat. "Happy birthday, Lila."
On the way home, just as Id feared, my e-scooter died.
I had to get off and push it the rest of the way.
In the dead of night, a few luxury cars sped past me. I kept my eyes on the road, carefully navigating around potholes, focused only on pushing the scooter home.
It was past midnight when I finally arrived.
I made myself a simple bowl of noodles and ate it in the dark, the dim yellow glow of the streetlights outside casting long shadows in my small apartment.
I wasn't sleepy after I ate, so I took out my mother's photo and sat by the window, talking to myself.
"Mom, are you doing okay over there? Did you get the money I burned for you?"
"Have you met my baby? Is he cute?"
"Please, help him find a perfect mother next time. Don't let him be so unlucky as to end up with me again."
"Mom, I miss you."

4
That night, I had a dream for the first time in a long while. I dreamed of the past.
I hadn't dreamed in ages. The year and a half in prison had smoothed away what little fight I had left in me. I rarely thought about the past. Life in prison was rigid: wake up, work, eat, sleep.
It was hell at first. I would sit on my cot, eyes wide open, counting the seconds until dawn.
But eventually, I adapted.
And then, I stopped thinking at all.
It's too painful to live with your eyes wide open. Being numb is better. It doesn't matter if you can't feel happiness, as long as you don't feel too much pain.
But the girl in my dream was so vibrant, her smile so full of life.
When I woke up, a wave of sadness washed over me. How had I become this person?
The woman in the mirror had empty, lifeless eyes. I tried to force a cheerful smile, practicing for a world I no longer recognized.
The knock on the door came while the smile was still plastered on my face.
It froze the moment I saw Kim standing outside.
He saw my lack of reaction and spoke first. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"I'd rather not," I said, my hand tight on the doorknob. "What do you want?"
He held out a business card. "Call this person. He'll arrange a job for you."
"Thank you for the offer, but no."
He let out a short, derisive laugh, as if my pride was pathetic. "Candy, don't push your luck."
I just stared at him, silent.
Kim looked away. "Even though you got rid of the baby without talking to me, my offer still stands."
It took me a long moment to remember the promise he had made before I went to prison.
He had said he would marry me when I got out.
A real smile finally touched my lips.
Kim visibly relaxed. "Stop being angry. Lila said she's grateful to you, too. We should all get together sometime"
"Kim, that was your promise, not mine. It doesn't count." I cut him off, watching the relief drain from his face. My voice was soft. "I'm not so pathetic that I would marry a man who doesn't love me, who has never even respected me."
"All I have ever wanted was for us to be even."
"Even if it meant sacrificing my future."

5
Kim left.
His parting words were, "Candy, don't regret this."
I soon understood what he meant.
During the lunch rush, I came out from a delivery to find my e-scooter gone.
Along with it, a dozen orders I hadn't yet delivered.
I stood on the sidewalk, phone in hand, staring blankly at the street. People hurried past me, their lives uninterrupted.
I had to call each customer, one by one, to apologize and offer compensation. Then I reported the theft to the police.
They told me the security camera in that area was broken. They would try to find my scooter, but they couldn't make any promises.
I walked out of the police station and looked at the string of one-star reviews and complaints on my delivery app. I took a deep breath and managed a weak, humorless smile.
I had enough money in my account to buy another scooter.
But what if the second one was stolen, too?
I crouched on the sidewalk for a long time, lost in thought, until a little girl with a backpack timidly tapped my shoulder. "Miss, are you okay?"
I smiled at her. "I'm just a little tired, sweetie. Resting for a minute."
She thought for a moment, then pulled a candy from her pocket and offered it to me. "Here, have a candy."
"Thank you."
Fueled by that small act of kindness, I found the strength to go home and start working on my resume.
A regular company wouldn't hire me, but there were always smaller businesses with lower standards.
But my criminal record was a constant obstacle. In every interview, the question would come up.
"You've been to prison?"
I'd nod. "Yes."
"For a hit-and-run?"
"Yes."
"But you don't have a driver's license?"
"That's correct."
The HR manager would fall silent, then politely hand my resume back, saying they'd "consider" it.
I thought of Kim telling me that Lila was too fragile for prison.
He never considered that because I didn't have a license, my sentence would be harsher.
But that was to be expected. You can't ask someone who has never cared about you to see things from your perspective.
Every interview was a dead end. To avoid burning through my savings, I started applying for waitress jobs.
But I never imagined that even for that, no one would hire me.
As I walked out of the last restaurant, a heavy rain began to fall.
I stood under the awning, watching the water drip from the roof, then slowly stepped out into the downpour.
The rain wasn't heavy enough to blur my vision.
But my vision blurred anyway.
It was the kind of pain that comes from knowing you've been wronged, but having no one in the world to tell.

6
Kim was waiting for me downstairs, holding an umbrella.
I saw him from a distance and stopped walking.
He saw me and started toward me, stopping a few feet away.
"Have you accepted reality yet?" he asked.
I looked at him, my voice steady. "Kim, you said you would be grateful to me for the rest of your life."
"So?"
"This isn't gratitude," I said. "You can't do this to me."
The rain must have soaked through to my brain. My words were so weak, so powerless.
Of course he could do this to me.
I had nothing. No powerful family, no wealth, not even friends or relatives to support me. He could humiliate me, frame me, pin any crime he wanted on me.
I just never realized he hated me that much.
That he wouldn't even let me live.
He closed the distance between us.
The umbrella blocked the pouring rain.
It also blocked out all the light.
In the shadows, he reached out and touched my cheek. This, he told me, was the price for wanting us to be even.
"Then what do you want from me?" I whispered. "You don't want my love. You don't want us to be even. So, I guess I have to die, right?"

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