Kate served five years for a crime she didn’t commit. Only her father, Frank, believed she’d been framed by the very people who were supposed to protect the innocent. When she finally returned to her small hometown, she found her ex-husband and his mother living in her father’s house, acting like they owned the place.
At the cemetery, where she went to find her father’s grave, the old groundskeeper handed her a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.
“He came to see me before he passed,” the man said. “Told me to give you this. Said it was what he managed to hide from them.”
The iron gates of the Oak Ridge Correctional Facility slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing like a chapter of her life being torn away. Kate stood on the empty road, a worn duffel bag in one hand and her release papers in the other. Tucked inside the envelope was fifty dollars—all that was left of her former life.
Five years ago, a prison transport van had carried her away from this very spot. Only her father had been there to see her go. Frank Peterson had gripped the chain-link fence, his knuckles white, and shouted after her.
“Kate, I’ll prove it! I’ll find who did this to you!”
Back then, she’d still held onto a sliver of hope that the truth would surface, that someone would realize a quiet bookkeeper at a children’s charity couldn’t possibly have stolen a quarter of a million dollars. But the days bled into years. Her husband, Andy, filed for divorce three months after the sentencing. Her mother-in-law, Tamara, publicly branded her a thief and forbade her own grandchildren from even mentioning their aunt’s name. Friends vanished. Coworkers pretended they’d never known her. Only her father made the four-hour drive every month. He’d bring what little he could and sit in the stuffy visitation room, his voice a steady anchor.
“I believe you, honey. I’ll find the proof.”
With each visit, he looked a little worse—thinner, grayer, a persistent cough rattling his chest. But his eyes still burned with the same unwavering faith.
The bus ticket to her hometown cost forty dollars. Kate counted the crumpled bills and realized there wouldn’t be enough for a return trip. Not that there was anywhere to return to. Her apartment in the city was long gone, sold to cover legal fees. A felony conviction made finding a job next to impossible.
The ride home felt like traveling back in time. Kate stared out at the familiar rolling hills, the dense woods, the weathered barns. Everything seemed smaller, sadder than she remembered. Or maybe it was she who had changed.
The bus dropped her off in the town square. Harmony Creek greeted her with silence and sideways glances. The old women gossiping outside the general store fell quiet as she passed, turning their backs. She heard whispers, someone pointing. The word “thief” carried clearly on the afternoon breeze.
Kate walked down the familiar street toward her father’s house, her feet remembering every crack in the sidewalk. There was Mrs. Gable’s picket fence. The old woman peeked through her curtains, then quickly drew them shut. There was the leaning mailbox in front of the Miller place. And there, finally, was her childhood home—the sturdy two-story house with the big front porch where she had grown up.
Standing on that porch was Tamara, wearing a new leather coat.
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