His Regret, Her Name, My Freedom Novels & Stories

With a deep breath, Loretta struggled to her feet. She brushed herself off, wincing at the scrapes. Despair wrapped around her like a shroud. She walked, her feet heavy, one step at a time, homeward bound, lost in sorrow. Tears cascaded unrestrained down her face. My heart was bleeding for Mercy, for Fabian, for everything that happened. Regret, the weight was pulling me down. As night began to fall, Loretta trudged on, alone. Never had freedom been this hollow.

For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in her expression—hesitation, maybe. But then, she turned away. Without a word, without a second glance, she walked toward the exit. Gone. Just like that. A sob tore from my chest. I gripped the bars, my fingers trembling as I sank onto the floor. I had lost everything. My family. My name. My freedom. And now, my only chance at getting out of here had just walked away. Tears streamed down my face as I let myself wallow in it. In my regrets.

Above me, the sky blurred, the trees swayed and the world dimmed. She staggered away and all I could see was how her figure kept growing distant as though she was fading away and then finally she was.. Gone. ‘Mylor I’m sorry’ ‘We fought a good fight you and I, you and your arrogant self.. let’s now rest’ And as the darkness closed in… There was only one name left. One truth I could not escape. One regret that consumed everything. “Seraphine…” My voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry…”

I wouldn't like me either. My cellmate is a woman named Rita. She's in her fifties, serving time for armed robbery. She doesn't talk much, which I appreciate. But sometimes at night, when the lights are out and the sounds of the prison settle into an uneasy quiet, she asks me questions. Why did I do it? Was it worth it? Do I regret it? I always tell her the truth. Yes, I regret it. Every single day. But regret doesn't change anything. It doesn't bring back the time I stole from Alessia and Alexander. It doesn't erase the trauma I caused. It just sits there, heavy and useless, reminding me of who I've become.

A life that ended somewhere far from where anyone could question it. I watched from a distance as he unraveled. The apologies came too late. The regret was real—but useless. I had already left the country under a different name. A different life. A clean slate. No more fear. No more control. No more “almost love.” I mourned myself in silence. Not because I was dead—but because the girl who stayed had finally disappeared. And somewhere across the ocean, I breathed freely for the first time. Because sometimes, the only way to survive…

WE’RE not perfect. We were all flawed. At some point in our life, we had probably made a decision that we ended up regretting in our whole life. And for Zara, if there was one thing that she regretted in her life, then that’s how she just simply let a man ruin her life. She sucked in a breath of air and let it out slowly. Her thin lips curled into a smile. She just stepped out of the jail where she had spent her four years. She loathed every hour and minute she had spent inside the prison. But now she was finally free.

“She is a cautious woman. This is a considerable risk for her.” “She’s terrified of him,” I whispered, staring at the words I am proud. “She has been terrified of him for thirty years. But she always saw the real me. She knew I wasn’t made for the Hayes life. She tried to tell me, once, years ago, that the price of freedom was worth the cost of the name. I didn’t listen then.” Igor reached out, gently taking the phone from my hand and placing it face down on the counter. He understood that the message was meant to be absorbed, not analyzed.

Only her steps remained unbroken—echoing, multiplying, refusing to stop. The mirrors blurred, melting into smoke, and in the haze she saw herself walking barefoot through Lagos streets. The asphalt burned, shards of glass cut, yet her steps grew louder with every wound, until the whole city seemed to echo with them. She woke with her heart pounding, sweat damp on her brow. Turning toward the faint outline of Daniel, she whispered into the dark, not sure if he could hear: “If the price is too high, may I still remember my own name.” And she understood: belonging would always cost something. The question was whether the price would be leather, silence—or the bright center of herself.

"Is this what freedom feels like?" His golden eyes searched mine, and for a fleeting second, something flickered in them, pity, maybe. Or regret. "No," he said finally. "This is what loss feels like. Freedom comes later." His words weren't cruel. They were honest, and that honesty settled into me like a stone dropped into a lake, quiet, rippling outward.

Not politician Mary. Just her. “They say the truth sets you free. But I don’t want freedom anymore.” “I want redemption.” “And I want her — Sophie — to have the freedom I couldn’t claim.” A pause. “If she’s hearing this, then I failed.” “But maybe… maybe she won’t.” Sophie stood in the middle of the vault, both fists clenched. Then she turned to the old Phoenix flag folded in the corner. Unfolded it. Held it up. And whispered: