Caged for Him, Crowned by Another

Staring at the sprawling, intersecting roads, I felt utterly lost. I had no idea where to go.

Then something occurred to me. I pulled a scrap of paper from my bag; a phone number was scribbled across it. I borrowed a passerby's phone and dialed the number.

To my surprise, it connected.

Half an hour later, Jonathan Brooke appeared like an answer to my prayers.

He took me to buy a new phone, new clothes, and even found me a job. He walked me through, in minute detail, how the outside world had changed over the past five years and urged me to adapt.

When it came time to find a place to live, he brought me to a high-end apartment complex in the city center. I assumed we were looking for rentals—until he told me this was his home.

I had known, vaguely, that the cellmate who'd helped me had a decent background, but I had never expected such wealth. This neighborhood was expensive—every inch counted.

Jonathan insisted I stay. He knew I wouldn't accept charity, so he put me in charge of the household chores. I couldn't refuse, so I moved in.

My new job was at a convenience store. On my first day, I didn't expect Ian to show up. He looked hollowed out—gaunt, his eye sockets sunken, as if he might pass out at any moment.

"Adam," he said, his voice ragged, "during the five years you were gone, I stayed by Luke's side. I even saved his life in that car crash. I've loved him as much as you have.

"I'm dying. If I can become family with Luke, I can die without regrets. I know it's selfish. I don't have many days left. Could you pity me, just this once? Let me be selfish?"

I lowered my eyelids and spoke coolly, "Ian, don't worry. I already signed the divorce papers with Luke. He'll be with you from now on."

I stood to return to work. Ian grabbed my hand. "If you want someone to blame, blame me. Don't blame Luke. He's only doing this for me."

He was physically fragile; when he tried to stand, he seemed made of paper and collapsed to the floor.

A furious male voice exploded like thunder.

"Adam, what are you doing?"

Luke stormed in, seething, and helped Ian to his feet. Then he turned on me with a cold fury.

"Since when were you so horrid? Ian is ill, and you pushed him? Are you even human?"

I froze, every limb icily numb, blood seeming to ebb from my face. The man I had loved for over a decade—the man for whom I had taken five years behind bars—cast aspersions on me without even knowing the truth.

In that instant, I felt like a joke. Years of devotion—a humiliating, cheap self-consolation. He never felt gratitude; I was just something replaceable, something to be swapped out whenever convenient.

Ian lay limp in Luke's arms, murmuring weakly, "Luke, don't blame Adam. It's all my fault." Then he fainted.

Luke carried him off in his arms and shot me a look filled with disappointment and rage before leaving.

"Five years in prison can really change a person," he said. "You've become so cold and heartless. You'd better pray Ian pulls through, or you'll be prepared to feel guilty for the rest of your life."

His words were like a pair of hands crushing my heart. My heart ached.

He was right—those five years in prison had hardened me.

But could I afford not to harden?

Prison turned people into demons. Those who were soft-hearted were prey.

When I first arrived, my small frame made me a target: beaten, humiliated, forced to kneel, my palms burned by cigarette butts, my legs broken by rebar.

Covered in wounds, I was still forbidden to eat. I had to satisfy the twisted demands of certain big guys in there. I lived like a dog in a world without daylight. Any resistance only earned worse beatings.

Once, I was nearly beaten to death. Jonathan saved me. He was notorious in our block for his brutality in fights—the top boss. After that, I trained with him in fighting and never got tormented again.

Besides, this five-year sentence was ultimately handed to me because of Luke, wasn't it? What right did he have to reproach me?