“Congratulations, kid! Your wife’s locked up for ten years—now the apartment’s ours!” Champagne flowed freely as my husband and mother-in-law toasted my arrest…

“There’s something else,” he said after a pause. “About Mom. She didn’t just leave that note the police found. She wrote a full confession, with details and proof, and mailed it to the DA’s office, certified, that morning before… before she died.” Sarah froze. “You’re sure?” “Yes,” Michael pulled a crumpled receipt from his pocket. “Found this in her purse when I was going through her things. Called the DA, and they confirmed they got the letter.” “What’s in it?” Sarah leaned forward. “They didn’t say?” “No, but…” He hesitated. “I think it’s a complete confession. Mom was… off lately. Kept talking about sins, redemption. Maybe her conscience did haunt her.”

Sarah snorted. Patricia, wracked by guilt? More likely, it was fear—fear of exposure, of public disgrace. “Either way,” Michael continued, “your case will be reopened. My lawyer says with this confession, you’ll be fully exonerated and might even get compensation for wrongful imprisonment.” “Compensation?” Sarah echoed. “What compensation can give me back seven years?” Michael had no answer. There wasn’t one.

The next morning was sunny, a rare treat for October. Sarah woke early, lingering under the shower, washing away the residue of her talk with Michael. Today was big—moving back to her apartment, starting a new chapter. Emily was still at her mom’s, so Sarah left a note thanking her for the shelter and promising to visit soon.

She packed her few belongings into a bag and stepped outside. On the way to the bus stop, she bought a newspaper. A small article on page two mentioned a seven-year-old case being reopened due to new evidence. Her name wasn’t mentioned, but it was clear which case it was. The bus dropped her at the familiar building on Elm Street. Sarah lingered at the entrance, gathering her courage, then punched in the code and entered.

She climbed to the third floor and pulled out her keys. They still slid into the locks effortlessly. Sarah stepped inside and paused, listening. Silence. No brassy blonde on the couch, no trace of a stranger’s presence.

The air smelled fresh—Michael must’ve aired out the rooms. Sarah walked into the living room.

Couch, armchair, coffee table—all in place. The blinds were gone, replaced by soft blue curtains, almost like the ones she’d had before. In the bedroom, a surprise awaited.

The boxes Michael mentioned were unpacked, her clothes hung in the closet, books arranged on shelves. On the nightstand sat a vase of wildflowers and a note: “I’m sorry, M.” Sarah crumpled it and tossed it in the trash.

Too late. Far too late for apologies. She toured the apartment, reacquainting herself with the space.

Three rooms, kitchen, bathroom, closet—all familiar yet alien, like a museum exhibit of her old life. In the kitchen, another surprise: a stocked fridge and a basket of fruit on the table with an envelope. Inside, a thousand dollars and another note: “For now. We’ll talk money later. M.” Sarah smirked. Michael, trying to buy forgiveness with cash. Typical.

She brewed tea and sat by the window, watching kids on the playground below. Seven years ago, she and Michael had dreamed of a child, planning to start a family right after the wedding. Now that dream felt naive and distant. A doorbell interrupted her thoughts. A courier stood outside with a massive bouquet of roses.

“Sarah Elizabeth Johnson?” he asked, checking his tablet. “That’s me.” “Delivery for you. Sign here.” Sarah scrawled her name and took the flowers. A card read: “I’ll fight for you. Michael.”

“God, what an idiot,” she muttered, dumping the roses in the sink. “Thinks flowers fix everything.” An hour later, the bell rang again. Expecting another courier, Sarah opened the door to a middle-aged man in a suit. “Sarah Elizabeth Johnson?” he asked. “I’m from the DA’s office. Senior Investigator Daniel Carter. May I come in?” Her heart sank. Had something gone wrong? “Of course,” she stepped aside. They sat at the kitchen table…