All Roads Lead Home Eventually

Everyone probably thought the day I got out of prison was the happiest day of Yvonne Nash’s life. She was there early, waiting at the gate with roses in her hands, like we were some picture-perfect love story.

All the way home, she kept saying, "Hi, darling, I missed you." Over and over, like she actually meant it. But that night, she locked herself in the bathroom and made a call.

"Yvonne, you won’t touch him, right?" A man’s voice, low and cautious.

"Relax," she said. "I don’t have feelings for him anymore. He went in for me. Once I repay the favor, I’ll break up with him."

I didn’t stick around to hear more. Just grabbed my phone, my chest hollow. "Mom, I’ll do what you asked. I’ll marry that girl."

——

Silence. Then my mom’s voice, stunned. "Wait, really? Why so suddenly?"

I gripped the phone tighter. "Just set it up. I know what I’m doing."

Before I could hang up, I felt arms wrap around me from behind. "I miss you so much," she murmured.

I froze. Was this really the same woman who had just spoken so coldly in the bathroom?

I tried to pull away, but she held on tighter. Like always, she thought I would never leave. That I would take whatever she threw at me.

She wasn’t scared. Why would she be? I had already gone to prison for her.

Yvonne licked her lips, looking satisfied and that’s when I noticed the ring on her finger—gleaming, unmistakable.

Unbelievable. Every time we passed a jewelry store, I would ask her to pick matching rings. She always brushed me off, said rings were a hassle. And yet, here she was, wearing one.

I was still trying to process that when she pulled me to the bed without a word. Her kisses landed light and quick, like raindrops on warm pavement.

"I've been waiting so long," she whispered. "You're finally back. I’ll make it up to you."

Make it up to me? How? How do you repay someone for losing eight years of their life?

Yvonne's hands moved with practiced ease, but her mind was clearly somewhere else. Every few seconds, she would glance at her phone, completely checked out.

I used to send her thousands of messages—probably over 10,000. She barely ever replied, always too "busy with work."

Funny how she suddenly had time now. Every notification, she checked instantly. No hesitation. Then, for a split second, her screen lit up and I saw it.

Her wallpaper. A wedding photo with someone else. Something inside me clenched, but I still wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet.

“It's been eight years. Shouldn’t we get married by now?” I said.

She froze. For a long moment, it was like she wasn’t even there, like I was speaking to an empty shell. Then, finally, she forced a smile, awkward and thin. “Why get married, Jordan?”

I had confronted her before, more times than I could count. And every time, she had an excuse. But aside from that, she was perfect, at least, that’s what everyone told me.

People said Yvonne was probably planning the wedding of a lifetime, something so extravagant no man could ever refuse.

They said I was lucky to have her. That a woman like Yvonne was a once-in-a-lifetime catch. So I believed them. I believed them enough to go to prison for her.

And every day behind bars, I told myself it would all be worth it. Now here we were.

She reached for my arm, her voice soft, sweet. “We haven’t been together in so long. Let’s take things slow, yeah? We need time to rebuild what we had.”

How much time did she need? As far as I knew, she never had male friends. Even her assistants were all women.

She used to bring me everywhere, introducing me openly, proudly.

“My boyfriend,” she would say with a smile. “Don't be jealous. There’s only one you in the world.”

Yeah. There was only one me, but she had plenty of others.