Wish Upon A Sunset

Homecoming

Emma

Four Years Later...

Happily Ever Afters didn't exist.

I was almost certain of this because I didn't remember ever once reading in those classic fairy tales about the heroine "doing time" in prison, nor did their Prince Charming ever stab them in the back.

Princesses also got to live in castles. I got Hasburrow Heights Women's Correctional Facility. Not as charming or as grand as the gilded palaces told in stories.

Definitely a mouthful, though.

Instead of parapets surrounding my fortress, barbed wire coils stretched across its stark walls, and the turrets nestled at each corner housed armed officers to shoot down any unlucky runners or troublemakers - both grim reminders of my forced confinement over the past five years.

We also had guards, but they were far from the majestic sentries guarding the palace's elite. These guards' power went to their heads and treated all of us like...well...criminals.

I scoffed to myself. Yeah, my fairy tale ended a long time ago, in a town not too far from my current prison. But today I was free, and I had been impatiently waiting for my carriage to arrive and take me home.

I closed my eyes as the cool wind on my face warned of a coming downpour, the dark clouds heavy overhead. The breeze felt amazing. The air I had known my whole life had changed. This was different. This was the harbinger of freedom.

While I inhaled deeply, my eyes opened a second before a honk drew my attention to the parking lot and I watched as a 1964 Pontiac Catalina pulled into one of the empty spaces across from me. The ear-piercing sound that came from the engine as it shut off caused me to cringe. Okay, maybe not a carriage, but definitely a ride home.

The driver's side door of the giant, square-shaped car opened, and I watched as my best friend—and first cousin—Molly jumped out with her usual abundance of excitement and optimism. A smile tugged at my lips as I shook my head at the sight of her hippie-like outfit: a faded pink knee-length skirt with fringe beading around the hem, a white shirt covered by a jean jacket adorned with iron-on flower patches, and calf-length leather boots that added a good inch and a half to her petite five-foot-three frame. Typical Molly. Poor thing had been born in the wrong era.

Her added height brought her to eye level as she ran me down and swooped me into her arms. "Hey, Jailbird!"

Her bubbly laugh was loud and genuine as I squeezed her tight, and I giggled along with her. Being around Molly was easy. Despite that, my stance was awkward as she stepped back and examined me. I had seen her multiple times in the last five years, and we had been best friends before that, having grown up together. However, a part of me felt different now. Like I was a different person, hiding in an Emma skin-suit, and everyone would find out I wasn't me anymore. I felt tainted and guilty. Lost.

My smile was uncomfortable as Molly adjusted her T-shirt and I could have sworn her tummy looked more rounded as she did that.

Shock coursed through me when the realization hit - she was pregnant! Why had she stayed silent during our calls or her recent visit? She looked far enough along that she would have been pregnant the last time I saw her. Was she worried about how it would make me feel? Did she think I was too emotionally fragile to handle the fact that she was going to have a baby? It was sweet of her if that was the case, but I could handle it. Just because my relationship with my children was strained didn't mean that I wouldn't or couldn't be happy for her. Even though the thought of my own children filled me with such an intense sadness that I almost doubled over from it. In the last five years, I had only seen them twice.