Chapter 2

December in Houston. The wind cut like a blade.

Where the prosthetic met my residual limb, blood had already soaked through.

I gritted my teeth and made it back to my rented room.

When I undid the harness, the stump beneath was raw and mangled.

In the first weeks after my conviction, Derek had come to see me in the visitation room — grinning like he'd won the lottery.

"Ethan, you have no idea how good Vivian is in bed."

"Don't worry about a thing in there. Your wife, your house, your firm — I'll take real good care of all of it."

I had thrown myself against the glass partition screaming until my throat tore.

That same night, three inmates dragged me into a blind spot with no cameras.

They used an iron rod. They broke my leg, inch by inch.

"Somebody paid good money for this."

I spent six months flat on my back. The infection spread. In the end, amputation was the only option.

I had hated, back then. But five years in prison had hollowed that hate into something closer to despair.

The next morning I was woken by urgent knocking.

I thought it was the landlord again about the rent.

It was Vivian.

"Ethan, I made lasagna. With the crispy pancetta you always loved."

She let herself in.

"Don't let Derek's words get to you. That's just his way."

"I came today to talk about your future."

I leaned against the doorframe, watching her coldly.

"What future does an Uber driver have?"

"Ms. Grant, you should head back. Don't want to get that designer outfit dirty."

Vivian turned around and sighed.

"Ethan, stop being stubborn. If you go to Sophie and apologize — sincerely — I'll bring you back to the firm."

"You can't practice law, obviously. But there's a cleaning position. Five thousand a month. Enough to get by."

She raised her chin slightly, waiting for my gratitude.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

"Vivian. You want me to apologize to the woman who fabricated the entire thing?"

The color drained from Vivian's face.

"Ethan! You still refuse to take responsibility?"

"If I hadn't argued for leniency — out of respect for our marriage — do you think you'd have gotten only five years?"

She stepped toward me, reaching to drag me toward the door.

I shoved her hand away.

"Vivian. Did you ever actually read the case files carefully?"

"Why did the security camera in that hotel corridor go down at the exact right moment?"

"And what exactly was in the drink I had that night?"

My questions made her hesitate.

Then her impatience flared.

"Enough, Ethan! Are you seriously suggesting Derek and Sophie conspired to frame you?"

"I came here to help you. Don't throw it back in my face."

I pointed at the door. My voice was flat.

"I don't need your help. Get out."

Vivian's eyes went wide, as if she couldn't believe I was speaking to her this way.

"You are completely unreasonable! Do you think you're still the hotshot lawyer you used to be?"

"You're a convict, Ethan. A cripple."

She slammed the door behind her.

That afternoon, just as I was about to log back in to take rides, I got a notification from the platform.

My Uber account had been permanently deactivated following a customer complaint.

The stated reason: disabled pervert driver attempted to assault female passenger.

I didn't even need to think about who was behind it.

Derek. He couldn't even wait a day.