Chapter 1
Three years in prison for Jackson.
As I stepped out of the jail, he was celebrating his third wedding anniversary with our son, Barry Gellar, and his beloved, Rebecca Perez.
On the giant screen, Barry passionately kissed Rebecca, proclaiming, “I’m proud to have such a great mom.”
I turned to Jackson, questioning, “If Rebecca’s his mom, then what am I?”
Jackson accused me of being jealous, “What’s a little sacrifice for
our son?”
Suddenly, I felt utterly tired.
As I handed him the divorce papers, Jackson asked with a frown, “Is this really about that little thing?”
“Yes, it is. I don’t want you or our son anymore!”
On the day I stepped out of prison, I tossed aside everything I had—except for a single photograph of our little family from three years ago.
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2/5
As I finally walked through those heavy doors, the long–awaited sunlight kissed my face, and the air felt fresh and full of life.
I stood there, soaking it all in, yet the hours stretched on from morning to evening without a sign of Jackson.
When the prison guard finished their shift and took me to the city, she tried to reassure me, “You’ll be okay. Your family might take some time to adjust, but it’ll get better.”
I nodded, the city’s neon lights blinding me as I tilted my head skyward to glance at the huge screen across the river.
“Three, two, one…” The countdown echoed in my ears as familiar faces filled the screen.
There was Jackson standing beside Rebecca, my son Barry grasping Rebecca’s hand tightly.
A reporter below shouted, “Ms. Perez, you just won the Ruby Design Awards Gold Medal! What do you have to say?”
With composure and grace, Rebecca faced the camera, her smile radiant. “I’m thrilled! And I must thank my wonderful husband
and son.”
The reporter nodded appreciatively, saying, “Ms. Perez is indeed a fantastic wife and mother! We’d love to hear from your family!”
Barry jumped at the chance, grabbing the microphone. “Let me speak! I’m so proud to have such an amazing mom!”
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The camshafted to Jackson, “And how about you, r? Your action more than any words could r
Actement rippled though the crowd as someone jorally shouted, “Hey, im today your three year AD LIMITETYT
“Give her a boss, give her a becamethechant.
And the che, I couldn’t take my eye of the EON.
Jackoned hestant at Grat, but Rebecca leaned in, clearly unbothered by the action, Bairy give Jackson a playful poat, practically ring him into Rebecca’m arma for a
Thought, “My bareboy–what a wingmunt
Deepede, he mast surely be thinking even more highly of his men, right
Three yours innoubar abort nor a long time it felt long sough that my longing for them made the days drag an like youre but short enough that hopes for the future dipped right through my finger grains of and
Thad dreamt.countless times of the moment in would embras agam, but the reality was quite different–it was then sharing that joy, not us
Ahat three years behind bars, my ly was
In this world, an unwanted ghost
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With nowhere left to go, I returned to my grandfather Morton Aniston’s manor.
The room was filled with heavy, dusty old furniture, the sun casting a dim light on everything.
Morton’s memorial photo stood in a place of honor, looking over me with that ever–stern expression.
I crouched before it, overcome with grief.
Morton had never approved of Jackson.
He once said that his little princess didn’t deserve to suffer alongside another man in tough times.
We had fought bitterly about it. I told him that even if he looked down on Jackson, Jackson would soar to great heights.
Jackson had that stubborn determination, and he did make something of himself.
Then, just as he reached the pinnacle of his career, he was wrongfully accused of contract fraud.
I took the fall for him, convinced that as long as Jackson was out there, he’d find a way to clear my name.
But after I was incarcerated, he couldn’t find the evidence, and our son kept growing up without either of us.
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I didn’t know how long I sobbed before sleep eventually claimed me. When I woke again, there they were–Jackson and Barry–standing behind me.
Seeing me on the floor, Jackson quickly shed his suit jacket and
placed it over my shoulders. His voice held a note of reproach. “We searched all night, and you weren’t home. What are you doing here?”
Confused, I lifted my gaze. “Where is my home?”
The last time I had seen Jackson was a year ago during a visit. He had stopped coming, saying work was keeping him tied up with too many responsibilities.
Barry was staring around at the Aniston manor; his nose crinkled in distaste. “What is this place? It’s filthy!”
His gaze landed on me, suspicion in his eyes as he stepped back. “Dad, who is this old lady?”
