I Was the Grass Beneath Your Feet

Eight years later, I finally stepped out of prison.

"Esme Walker, now that you're out, live an honest life. Keep moving forward, and don't look back," a prison guard said.

I took the few personal belongings I had from the prison guard and boarded the fishing boat that had come for me.

Wendy graduated four years ago, but I had spent eight years in this prison.

…

As soon as I stepped ashore in Whitville, I saw a luxury car. The window rolled down, and there was my fiance, Lance Stewart, with the same perpetual indifferent expression.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I promised you we'd get married," he said.

I didn't answer him and just got into the car.

I saw myself in the rearview mirror. My skin was dry and sallow, marred by scars of varying lengths and depths.

I looked hideous.

Lance noticed how miserable I looked, too.

"Esme, you—"

He had just started to speak when a ringtone cut him off.

I could already guess who was calling and what was coming next. After all, this sort of thing happened time and time again.

"Esme, I'm sorry. Wendy's sick," Lance said. "She's kind-hearted and has always felt guilty about what happened eight years ago. Your release today reopened old wounds again.

"I need to go to the hospital right away. When you see her, talk to her, okay? Tell her you did everything willingly."

Before he could finish, I got out of the car on my own.

Lance froze for a second. As he looked at me standing by the roadside, his expression grew hard to read.

"I'll arrange for a driver to take you home. As for your injuries, give me a few days. I'll arrange for a consultation with a doctor."

I had been imprisoned and tortured for eight years, and thousands of sunless days had taught me one thing.

All of them, including Lance, never loved me.

I had stopped wanting to marry him a long time ago, too.

When I was eight years old, my uncle, Charles Cooper, drowned. He had tried to save me and my cousin, Wendy Cooper, after we fell into the river.

Two years later, a fire broke out at Wendy's house. My aunt, Beatrice Walker, died in the flames.

Wendy was only four months younger than I was, but she had already lost both her parents.

My mom and dad always believed my childish recklessness was what caused Charles' death, and that it had led to Beatrice's tragedy.

And so, they adopted Wendy.

As for me, I had to give in to her in everything and mind her feelings.

Eight years ago, they even made me go to prison in her place just so she could take my guaranteed admission to university.

To outsiders, I was the one who seemed adopted compared to Wendy. Many didn't even know the Walkers had a biological daughter.

Two hours later, I arrived at Walker Residence. Wendy was still in the hospital and needed help, so the only ones at home were the butler, Perry White, and two housekeepers on duty.