6 years. Gone. Just like that.

The prison was eerily quiet at night. The only sound came from the flicker of the hallway nights and the occasional footsteps of the guards. I had always hated the silence here. It made me think too much...

I ran a hand over my face, feeling the rough stubble that had become a part of me, just like the scars across my body. Some of them I could ignore, but one in particular always burned in the back of my mind. A long jagged scar running across my ribs— courtesy of Diego, another inmate.

I clenched my fists just thinking about him. That guy had been a problem since day one. Always lurking, always watching, waiting for a chance to jump me. He nearly finished me off a few years back.

But tomorrow morning, I would never see him again. I'd be out of this hellhole. I sat up, swinging my legs off the bed, sighing as I ran a hand through my hair. I couldn't sleep. Not tonight. My mind was racing, not just from the idea of being free but because I wasn't sure what waited for me out there. My mom hadn't visited me in years. No friends, no family. Would they even know I was getting out?

The door buzzed open, and the guards footsteps echoed down the hall. It was morning already?

"García. Let's go."

I could feel every eye in the place on me as I walked out of the cell. The guards flanked me, keeping the rest of the inmates back, but I knew the whispers would start as soon as I was gone. Guys like me didn't just walk out untouched.

As we moved down the corridor, I heard a familiar voice behind me, a voice I knew all too well.

"Yo García! Don't think that this is over!" It was Diego, his voice dripping with venom. "You're a dead man outside, you hear me?! You think you're safe out there? You'll never be free!"

I kept walking, my eyes fixed straight ahead, but my blood boiled under the surface as my fists instinctively clenched. Diego was standing at his cell door, gripping the bars so tight his knuckles turned white. His face twisted with hate, eyes burning right into me like he'd jump me right then if he could.

"Just wait, García," he spat. "You'll get what you deserve. I promise you that." He started laughing.

My jaw tightened. The urge to turn around and wipe that smirk off his face rising in my chest. I could picture him watching me with hate-filled eyes watching me like a predator sizing up his prey. But I wasn't a prey. Not anymore. Diego had tried to beat me down before, giving me these scars, but I'd walked out of those fights every time, and I'd walk out of this prison too. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he could still get under my skin.

I kept walking, my pulse steadying with every step towards the gate. I stepped out of the cell block and into the processing area, the doors shutting behind me with a loud clang. That was it. I'd never see that bastard or that hellhole ever again.

The guards took my prints one last time and handed me a pile of neatly folded clothes— regular clothes, not the orange jumpsuit I had been wearing for years. Putting them on almost felt strange, like I was trying on someone else's life. I almost felt like an impostor in my own body.

"Enjoy your freedom, asshole." One of the guards muttered, his eyes cold as he tossed my papers back at me. I didn't care. None of their comments could touch me now.

The gates opened, and I stepped outside. The air hit me like a wave, fresh and cool, nothing like the stale, metallic air inside those walls. I stood there for a minute, frozen, staring at the world I hadn't seen in 6 years. I couldn't process that this was real.

Then I started walking.

I headed towards the bus stop, each step taking me farther away from the place that nearly broke me. I was really going back home.

Home. I didn't know if i could ever call it that. I haven't been there for so long. Mom probably changed the sofa. Maybe got a new TV. A new life. Without me.

She never once visited me, her only contact was through the phone and only on special occasions like my birthday or Christmas, although se stopped calling a year ago. Despite her claims of believing in my innocence, she said she couldn't bear to look me in the eyes without being haunted by the accusations, which is why she never came to see me. I would never admit it to her, but it killed me inside. Each call felt like a reminder of her distance, and her refusal to visit left an unbearable void. She was the most important person in my life, and her absence felt like a betrayal that cut deep.

Getting on the bus, I drove to the nearest station to home. I still had to walk for 20 minutes afterwards, but that was fine. I actually enjoyed the walk... my freedom.

I still couldn't believe that I was finally free.

Looking around, I noticed that I was just a block away from my house. My heart raced, pounding so loudly in my chest that I could almost hear it, and my grip on the duffle bag faltered as my sweaty palms threatened to let it slip.

I was anxious.

What if she wasn't ready to see me? Where would I go if she turned me away?

I tried to brush those negative thoughts aside. She was my mother, after all. She knows me; she knows i'd never do the things I was accused of. And anyway, she told me that she believed me, that she was on my side.

Apparently, I was so deep in my thoughts, I didn't even notice that I was standing right in front of our apartment building. The entrance to the building was rusty and broken, so I was able to open it with ease.

We lived on the 8th floor, so I slowly made my way up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, each step filled with heavy anxiety. My mind raced, trying to find the right words for when I faced my mother for the first time in 6 years.

It took me a couple of minutes to get some courage to knock on the door. The fear of her rejection was eating me up inside.

Then the door opened. Just a little bit. Brown doe-eyes peered through the crack, wide and cautious, like a deer caught in headlights. I could see her long brown hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves, framing a face that took me off guard. She was... beautiful. Stunning, even. But this wasn't my mom. A knot tightened in my chest. Where was my mom?

Both of us stood there, equally confused, but I could see something else flickering behind her eyes— fear, maybe?

"Uhm... hey?" I stammered, my voice awkward and strained. I felt out of place standing at the doorway of what used to be my home, facing this stranger.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice tight, eyes scanning me from head to toe. I could feel her sizing me up, trying to piece together who I was and why I was standing at her door.

"Uhm, I'm.. I'm Matéo. Matéo García. I'm here for my mom? Silvia?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but the uncertainty of the situation gnawed at me. Her eyes widened, and in an instant, she edged the door even closer to being shut.

"Oh," She said, her voice softening, but not so much. "Silvia moved about a year ago, she rented this apartment to me."

I blinked, the words not fully registering at first. She moved? Why didn't she tell me? My mind raced, a sudden flood of disappointment and confusion taking over me. How could she just leave without a word? How was I supposed to find her now?

"Oh," I muttered, rubbing my forehead, trying to stay calm even though my heart was pounding. "Do you have... her phone number or an address? Anything at all, so I can reach her?"

"No, I'm sorry." Her response was clipped, and before I could process the rejection, the door clicked shut in my face, leaving me standing in the hallway, dumbfounded.

For a moment I just stood there. Numb. My mind was blank, the reality of it just sinking in. I didn't even have a place to crash, let alone a plan.

Great, I thought as I turned to head outside. As soon as I stepped into the street, the sky opened up, rain pelting down as if mocking me. The cold droplets soaked through my clothes instantly, chills running through my body. I looked up at the grey, stormy sky, feeling utterly defeated.

I sighed, the weight of everything suddenly pressing on my shoulders. I guess I was homeless for now. And completely screwed.

This was not what I expected. At all.

MAYLIN'S POV

Seeing a stranger at my door was unsettling enough, but when I realized it was my landlord's son— the one convicted of rape— a wave of panic hit me like a punch to the gut.

With trembling hands, I clutched the door tighter as I looked through the peephole to check if he had left. A wave of relief washed over me when I saw that he was gone.

Silvia had assured me that she believed her son was innocent, but let's be honest— most mothers say that, guilty or not, and I'd rather be safe than sorry. I knew most of the story, Silvia and I had a very long, emotional conversation over a cup of coffee before I moved in.

She had warned me that her son would probably check here when he got released. I just didn't expect him to be released so soon.

Although at first glance, he didn't seem like the kind of person who could do something horrible like that, I still couldn't let him in my apartment. The fear and possibility that he might be exactly the person he was convicted of being were reason enough for me to keep the door firmly shut.

I walked over to the window, peeping outside. Seeing him standing there, drenched in the rain, I felt a pang of guilt for slamming the door in his face.

He did look like he just got released. A slight stubble on his chin, a very fit build and a lone duffle bag on his shoulder kind of gave it away. I had to admit, he looked good for someone who was locked up for 6 years.

Thinking of Silvia.. I was reminded of how she helped me out through the darkest time of my life. Last year, when I felt completely lost, she offered me more than just food and a shelter— she gave me a sense of safety that not even my own father could make me feel. She didn't know me, didn't ask for anything in return, and never once judged me for the mess I was in. Although she didn't know the complete story, she saw me at my lowest and still chose to care. Her kindness saved me in more ways than I could explain.

And now, standing here, I felt a wave of regret crash over me. Her son was out there, soaked to the bone, probably feeling just as lost as I had been.

I couldn't shake the thought; I owed it to her to help him.

Before I could overthink it, I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my keys and rushed downstairs.

"Matéo!" I called for him as he was walking away. He turned around, his eyes cautious as they met mine. The pouring rain blurred my vision, so I raised my hands to shield my eyes, trying to get a clear look at him.

"I uhm.. if you don't have anywhere else to go, you're welcome to come in. Maybe I can help you with your mom." I was aware that I didn't know about her whereabouts, but even the smallest detail might become a lead for him.

I saw him hesitate, making me feel terrible for how I had dismissed him earlier. But I had been acting out of fear... don't blame me. "Come on." I urged, quickly stepping back inside the apartment building. I didn't even turn around to see if he was following— I could hear his footsteps echoing on the wet concrete behind me.

I told myself that I'd only offer him shelter until the rain stopped. Maybe for a day, or two at most. I tried to convince myself that this was all I was going to do—for Silvia— unaware that my life was about to be turned upside down again.

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I actually wanted to post chapter 1 next friday but I couldn't wait any longer😭 yes i'm an impatient hoe, so here we are!!!! I hope u enjoyed it🤭