Fell For My Ex's Brother In Law

The day of my release has finally come, but it's not the reason I've been waiting for so long. Today is the day my boyfriend Charles will finally propose to me.

My cellmate Trina hugged me tightly. "We don't want you to leave. If you go, who will help us with wounds and illnesses? That idiot who only engages in harassment but goes by the name of a doctor?"

I don't want my release day to be so sad. I hugged Trina and said, "Cheer up. You know how long I've been counting down to today. Aren't you happy for me?"

Before going to prison, I had a bright future as a surgeon, and Charles was a rising star in politics. We were a perfect match.

When a political opponent planted drugs in his home, I stepped forward to take full responsibility for it. Even though I lost my medical license, I ensured my loved one's future. He promised me that the day I got out of prison would be the day he proposed to me.

Trina shakes back her long braids. "I said, do you really think this Charles dude is going to show up for you, after all these years? He's never once come to visit you." I bristle at her doubtful tone.

While I entrusted my life to Charles, other prisoners had their doubts, and I won't judge them. After all, many inmates haven't found their true love yet. They don't understand the meaning of childhood sweethearts, family, and commitment.

"Of course," I say. "Charles is a great guy. He sends me a letter every week. He hasn't visited me because his status is sensitive. I went to jail, Trina, and it was not an honorable thing to do. And my dad wouldn't lie to me, either. I'm finally going to get my life back, Trina."

I'm sure he will. My father has brought so many messages from Charles over the years. His weekly visits remind me that I did the right thing, taking the fall for Charles. Everything is going to work itself out soon; Charles and I will be married, my life will be back on track, and I can finally put the last three years behind me.

"Okay, Nicki," Trina sighs, turning back to her letter. "Honestly, it kind of sounds like you're perfect for each other."

**

After a final round of hugs and a few promises to write – which I absolutely intend to keep – I'm ready to go.

It's weird, leaving. I clutch my little bag of personal effects, squeezing my engagement ring in my fist like a lifeline. It feels cold against my skin.

I look behind me one final time before taking a deep breath and stepping into the lobby, ready to embrace freedom at last.

No one is there.

I look around again, even going to the door to peer out into the parking lot. It's empty. The dingy, plastic seats of the lobby are empty. Everything is empty.

Uneasy, I ask the guard on duty if they'd informed my family of my release. The guard frowns, checks a computer, and tells me that they contacted my family twice over the past month.

My heart sank, but I believe it's just a misunderstanding. Charles and my family wouldn't abandon me. They must have simply gotten the timing wrong.

A bus journey later, which swallows up the bulk of my money, I'm wandering along Times Square. Everything feels so big, it's overwhelming. All these people, going wherever they want. So many people, so many crowds, just so much.

They don't know how lucky they have it, is my first thought. My second thought is that I don't know how I was ever used to this much open space and this many random people pressing in around me. I'm not sure that I like it anymore; it makes me feel like screaming.

I pass a bridal shop and pause to look at all of the gorgeous dresses. I never got to the dress-buying stage. I wonder who I can even ask to go with me, now that the wedding will be back on, besides my stepmom and stepsister. I'm not sure I have any friends left.

My reflection catches my eye, and I wince. I look rough. My dark hair is dull and lank from years of split ends and cheap soap. My skin is flaky, and my eyebrows have overgrown like a wild thornbush.

Honestly, maybe it's good that nobody came to pick me up. I should probably have a spa weekend before I see Charles again. I want him to be overcome with longing, not grossed out by my unibrow.

A flashing screen from the next shop redirects my attention, and I move to take a closer look. Wow, the Alpha's daughter is getting married!

The Alpha is the leader of the werewolf community, and he has a few children jostling for the position of heir. Werewolf culture has always been fascinating to me; in fact, it's one reason that I specialized in werewolf anatomy in medical school.

The camera pans across the Alpha's family, toasting the new bride. One catches my eye – the Alpha's son? Marcus. I've seen him before. I treated a whole pack of wolf soldiers when they came back from the front, and he was there.

Why was the Alpha's son at a regular hospital, not some private fancy one? But he was there, with his men, comforting them and bolstering their spirits. Insisting that he be seen last, as he was the least injured, kissing my hand when I prioritized his badly-injured soldiers over others waiting.

Marcus looks almost as handsome on TV as he did in person. Black hair, eyes the color of a Caribbean sea. Sun-kissed skin, smooth and marless except for the faded scar across his cheek. He's surprisingly trim for a werewolf; he wears a pearl-gray suit that accentuates his narrow hips, long legs, firm shoulders.

I stitched up that scar myself, and he was so patient and kind while I did. He didn't flinch at my needle, instead chatting with me quietly, asking questions about how I got into studying werewolf anatomy and complimenting my quick work.

I wonder if he –

All thoughts of Marcus are abruptly blanked out of my mind as the camera moves to the bride's beaming soon-to-be husband.

My legs wobble, my brain spins. I stumble backward, hardly registering the blare of a car horn behind me as I trip over the curb and into the street.

Oh, my god.

It's Charles.