Page 55 of Ruthless Regret

I take a sip of coffee, looking around the kitchen. The clean counters, the empty spaces. A house like this should feel like ahome, but it doesn’t. It’s more like a stage set, a place where nothing quite feels lived in. Not for me, at least.

Prison life was predictable. Brutal at times, but predictable. The routine, the sense of always knowing where I was, and what I was supposed to be doing. Out here, it’s different. There’s too much space. Too much freedom. And yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds.

My phone buzzes just as I take another sip of coffee.

“Hey.”

“I’m outside.” Peter’s voice is crisp.

“On my way.”

Grabbing a jacket, I head out of the door. Peter’s car is parked at the bottom of the steps. He watches me as I slide into the passenger seat, his eyes sharp.

“You ready for this?”

“Yeah. Let’s get it done.”

We pull away from the house, and for a few minutes, the car ride is silent. Peter glances at me.

“You sure this is what you want to do?”

“I don’t see any other option.”

“She’s not going to be happy with you showing up, especially this early in the morning.”

“She doesn't have to be happy about it. I need the truth, and I need her to get to it. That’s it. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get answers.” I ignore the little voice that points out that I’m full of shit. That finding out what she knows is only part of the reason I want to see her again.

“Pushing her isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“I’m not pushing. You’re the one who’s going to talk to her, remember.”

“I know, but still …”

“The police either fucked up, or hid evidence on purpose. We already know that some of Ashley’s memories are wrong. Look ather testimony. First she said one thing, and then another. I need to know why that happened.”

Peter sighs. “I get it, but she’s a human being, Zain. She’s not a robot. You can’t just march in there and make demands.”

I give him a sidelong glance. “Can’t I? It worked before. Don’t see why it won’t work again.”

“And isn’t that the reason she walked out in the first place?”

“It’s different this time.”

“Is it? I’ll talk to her, but if she refuses?—”

“Then I’ll change her mind.” I’ll camp outside her house and refuse to leave until she agrees to help me.

He snorts. “I wish I had your confidence.”

We drive the rest of the way in silence, and the longer I sit in the car, the more the tension crawls back up my spine. There’s no going back from this. Ashley needs to come back to Whitstone.

When Peter pulls up in front of a house, I finally look up from doom scrolling on my cell.

This is where she lives. In a house. With all the freedoms that come with it. While I spent fourteen years in a prison cell. There’s a world of difference between where her life went and where mine did.

I spent years in a space barely big enough to stretch out, staring at the same gray walls, hearing the same sounds of clanging bars and shouting guards. My view was steel bars and concrete. Hers is probably a quiet street with people passing by without a care in the world. It’s hard to wrap my head around it.

How did two people who were part of the same tragedy end up living such different lives?

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