Courtney's POV
At the very end of the documents was a wedding photo of Floyd and Lizzie.
It hit me like a punch to the gut.
Floyd, Lizzie, and their six children were smiling in the photo. His parents were there too. And to my horror, even my parents stood in the background, beaming with joy.
I took the fall for him, carried the shame, and gave up my freedom. And in the end, I was nothing but a stranger.
I closed the folder, my heart like a crumbling wall. There was no hope left, only resolve.
“Camelia,” I said to my prison sister, “help me overturn the case. And count me in. I’ll go with you to Southeast Asia.”
Camelia had once been a successful entrepreneur. She went to prison for excessive self-defense in a business dispute. While we were inside, she’d tried many times to pull me into her next venture.
But back then, my world revolved around Floyd.
Now, that illusion was shattered. And she couldn’t be happier.
“Took you long enough!” she grinned. “Men, especially scumbags, are the most useless trash there is.”
The day of my younger brother’s wedding, Lizzie showed up with all six of her children in tow.
She wore a fitted red dress, every inch glowing with confidence and charm. You’d never guess she was the mother of six.
The kids were dressed in matching formal attire. The boys were tiny replicas of Floyd, and the girls looked almost exactly like their mother.
Even Floyd himself wore a dark blue tuxedo, perfectly coordinated with Lizzie and the children. They looked like a polished family portrait come to life.
Seeing that, I let out a bitter laugh inside.
Floyd used to say he hated formal clothes.
Now I realize, he just didn’t want to match outfits with me.
His parents hovered around the children like they were made of glass, fretting over every step, sweating from the effort, but happy beyond belief.
Then Lizzie handed my brother a bank card.
“There’s a hundred thousand in it,” she said warmly. “Wishing you and your bride a long and happy life.”
My mother’s eyes lit up as she snatched the card out of his hand. “So generous! No wonder she was able to give Wagners six kids!”
She cast a sharp glance in my direction and sneered, “Not like some people. Blood relatives, sure, but she gave a measly 8,888 dollars and called it ‘lucky money’? Cheap as a rusty nail.”
My brother, emboldened, pulled the money out of the envelope right in front of me. Then he crumpled the empty wrapper, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it.
“What kind of joke is this?” he spat. “You think we’re beggars?”
I stood there, frozen. Their cruelty numbed me.
That 8,888 dollars wasn’t much, but it was all I had. I’d worked in prison, scrubbing floors, sewing clothes, anything I could, saving little by little, in secret. After that gift, I had less than a hundred to my name.
I frowned, lips pressed tight, saying nothing.
Suddenly, the eldest boy walked up to me. He stared for a full minute, then gave a mocking snort. “So you’re the woman who went to prison?”
He looked me up and down. “Ugh, you're ugly and trying to steal my dad? Shameless.”
He waved to the other kids behind him and shouted, “Come look! This is the bad woman who made our classmates call us bastards!”
Lizzie crouched down and quickly covered the boy’s mouth.
“Cliff! Don’t say things like that!” she scolded gently. “Apologize to the lady.”
But her face showed not a hint of remorse. If anything, she looked smug, like she'd just won a battle.
Naturally, her performance triggered Floyd's parents. Without missing a beat, they jumped to defend the kids and launched straight into scolding me.
Just then, Floyd, who’d been chatting with guests nearby, heard the commotion and walked over.
He gently patted Cliff’s head, his face full of fatherly affection.
“It’s Daddy’s fault,” he said softly. “I’m the reason your classmates teased you. But from today on, Auntie Courtney is your legal mom. No one will dare call you bastards again.”
Another little boy, slightly younger than Cliff, suddenly burst into tears.
The grandparents rushed over, scooping him up while panicking.
“Oh no, what’s wrong, sweetie? Tell Grandma, what’s hurting? What happened to our precious Ralph?” Floyd's mom asked gently.
Through his sniffles, he pointed at me. “Teacher says people who go to prison are bad guys!”
