It was past midnight outside the bar when I got the Uber request from my ex-wife. When she climbed into the front seat and saw my face, her jaw dropped. "Ethan." Her voice cracked. "Ethan Cole — you're out. Why didn't you come find me?" But Vivian had barely finished speaking before the drunk man beside her hauled her into his arms and pressed his mouth against hers. She fumbled to steady him, and that was when I recognized him. Derek Walsh. My best friend. The man who had accused me of sexual assault and put me behind bars. I tugged my cap lower and opened the rear door on autopilot. "Sir, let's get you in. Please leave a five-star review when we're done." Vivian's control shattered. She slapped the keys out of my hand, tears already streaming, and grabbed my shoulder with both hands. "Ethan, come home with me right now. Do you have any idea how much Mom, Dad, and I have missed you all these years?" I quietly pulled her hand off me and turned to pick up the keys from the ground. My prosthetic knocked against the bumper. Vivian stared at my leg. The tears came harder. I couldn't understand what she was crying about. After all, she was the one who had believed I assaulted her best friend — and as a lawyer, she had personally handed me over to the police. ——— "Ethan, what happened to your leg?" Vivian's question broke through Derek's drunken haze. He squinted at me, a sneer curling his lips. "Well, well. If it isn't brother Ethan." "When did you get out? You should've told me, I would've come to pick you up." Derek leaned against Vivian's shoulder, eyes bleary with liquor. Vivian wiped her face and shot him a reproachful look. "Derek, you're drunk. Stop talking nonsense." Derek just shrugged, then hooked his arm around Vivian's waist and pulled her against him. "What nonsense? Ethan did wrong, went in, and I was praying every single day he'd turn himself around." He swung a kick at my fold-up walking cane. Vivian gasped and reflexively steadied Derek before he could topple over. "Derek, you're drunk — stop moving around." The tenderness in her voice was identical to how she used to speak to me. Once Derek was settled, she looked back at my prosthetic. "Your leg... Ethan, what did you go through in there?" Her eyes were red-rimmed. I ignored her and bent to pick up the cane from the ground. "Excuse me. Could you move?" The movement was clumsy, and a gust of wind lifted my trouser leg, exposing the cheap metal brace. Vivian pressed a hand over her mouth, tears falling freely. "Ethan, please. Come back with me. We need to talk — we need to clear everything up..." She reached for me. I stepped aside. "Ms. Grant, are we still doing this ride? If not, I'll cancel it." I held up my phone, businesslike, and looked at her. Derek let out a short, contemptuous laugh and yanked Vivian into his chest. "Vivian, why are you wasting your breath on this rapist?" "He couldn't even keep his hands off your best friend Sophie. He got what he deserved." "If you ask me, losing a leg is getting off easy." Derek spat the words reeking of alcohol, every one of them driving straight into my chest. Five years ago, this man — my closest friend — had gotten me blackout drunk and left me in a hotel room. By the time I woke up, Sophie had run out in tears, her clothes in disarray. And Vivian had walked in with the police right behind her. She hadn't let me say a single word. She slapped me right there in the doorway. What made it truly absurd was that she — the sharpest attorney in the city — had personally served as Sophie's legal representative and put me away. I pulled myself back to the present and looked at Vivian. She was still pressed against Derek's side. She frowned, but she didn't push him away. "Derek, enough." A soft reprimand. Then she turned to me. "Ethan. Let's just do the ride." "You need the money." I didn't say anything. She wasn't wrong — I was broke. I adjusted the seat out of habit. By the time I finished, Vivian had already helped Derek into the back. The car was silent the entire way. Only Derek mumbled now and then. "Vivian... my head hurts... can you rub it..." Vivian murmured back to him, coaxing and gentle. I stared at the road ahead, expression blank, keeping the accelerator perfectly steady. Half an hour later, I pulled up in front of a gated luxury villa community. It used to be Vivian's and my home. "Here we are. One hundred and eighty dollars." I held out the receipt toward the back seat. Vivian handed me two hundred. "The twenty's a tip." I took it without a word. Derek pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills and flung them at my face. "Thank your lucky stars. Someone like you still getting paid — consider this charity. Buy yourself a decent prosthetic." "Stop dragging that leg around in public like you're begging for sympathy." He smirked, then steered Vivian out of the car. Vivian stood there staring at the money scattered across the ground, her brow creased. "Ethan, don't take it personally. Derek's just like that when he's had too much." "Take the money. Tomorrow, come by the firm. I'll find you something proper to do." I stepped out and collected only my $180. "I'm not worth much, Ms. Grant. But I'm not worth Derek Walsh's dirty money either." "Don't forget to leave that five-star review." Derek lunged forward to swing at me, but Vivian caught his arm. And I started the engine, drove the car back to the rental company before dawn, and let the dark swallow me whole.
December in Houston. The wind cut like a blade. Where the prosthetic met my residual limb, blood had already soaked through. I gritted my teeth and made it back to my rented room. When I undid the harness, the stump beneath was raw and mangled. In the first weeks after my conviction, Derek had come to see me in the visitation room — grinning like he'd won the lottery. "Ethan, you have no idea how good Vivian is in bed." "Don't worry about a thing in there. Your wife, your house, your firm — I'll take real good care of all of it." I had thrown myself against the glass partition screaming until my throat tore. That same night, three inmates dragged me into a blind spot with no cameras. They used an iron rod. They broke my leg, inch by inch. "Somebody paid good money for this." I spent six months flat on my back. The infection spread. In the end, amputation was the only option. I had hated, back then. But five years in prison had hollowed that hate into something closer to despair. The next morning I was woken by urgent knocking. I thought it was the landlord again about the rent. It was Vivian. "Ethan, I made lasagna. With the crispy pancetta you always loved." She let herself in. "Don't let Derek's words get to you. That's just his way." "I came today to talk about your future." I leaned against the doorframe, watching her coldly. "What future does an Uber driver have?" "Ms. Grant, you should head back. Don't want to get that designer outfit dirty." Vivian turned around and sighed. "Ethan, stop being stubborn. If you go to Sophie and apologize — sincerely — I'll bring you back to the firm." "You can't practice law, obviously. But there's a cleaning position. Five thousand a month. Enough to get by." She raised her chin slightly, waiting for my gratitude. A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "Vivian. You want me to apologize to the woman who fabricated the entire thing?" The color drained from Vivian's face. "Ethan! You still refuse to take responsibility?" "If I hadn't argued for leniency — out of respect for our marriage — do you think you'd have gotten only five years?" She stepped toward me, reaching to drag me toward the door. I shoved her hand away. "Vivian. Did you ever actually read the case files carefully?" "Why did the security camera in that hotel corridor go down at the exact right moment?" "And what exactly was in the drink I had that night?" My questions made her hesitate. Then her impatience flared. "Enough, Ethan! Are you seriously suggesting Derek and Sophie conspired to frame you?" "I came here to help you. Don't throw it back in my face." I pointed at the door. My voice was flat. "I don't need your help. Get out." Vivian's eyes went wide, as if she couldn't believe I was speaking to her this way. "You are completely unreasonable! Do you think you're still the hotshot lawyer you used to be?" "You're a convict, Ethan. A cripple." She slammed the door behind her. That afternoon, just as I was about to log back in to take rides, I got a notification from the platform. My Uber account had been permanently deactivated following a customer complaint. The stated reason: disabled pervert driver attempted to assault female passenger. I didn't even need to think about who was behind it. Derek. He couldn't even wait a day.
I hadn't even locked my door before the landlord arrived with two large men blocking the entrance. "Ethan Cole, someone offered ten times the rent. Get your stuff and get out. Now." Before I could process it, I was standing on the sidewalk. My belongings were thrown out after me. It had started raining. A downpour. The prosthetic throbbed in the cold water. A Maybach rolled up and drenched me in a wave of muddy runoff. "Look at that. The great attorney, brought this low." Derek exhaled a lazy ring of smoke. "You really are an embarrassment, Ethan." Vivian jumped out and held an umbrella over my head. "Ethan, stop fighting it. One apology. That's all." "I'll give you a job. I'll sort out your housing. Why do you keep driving yourself into a corner like this?" I pressed my palm to the wet ground and forced myself upright. "I don't need any of it. So could you two please get the hell away from me?" Vivian flinched. "Ethan. When you went to prison, Derek was the only one who was there for me. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have made it through." "I'm trying to help you. Why do you have to act like a wounded animal?" "Even if you don't want my help — at least think about your parents. They've been looking for you." As if on cue, two figures came running from the far end of the street. My parents. No umbrella. Rushing straight toward me. But the first thing they did when they reached me was each raise a hand and slap me across the face. "How dare you show yourself out here! You are no son of ours!" "Derek is our son now — you rapist. You should have rotted in that cell." All this time, I hadn't dared visit them. I was afraid the rumors had reached them, afraid they were being hurt by the talk. I hadn't imagined they'd already adopted Derek as their own. Derek hurried over and guided my parents toward the car. "Mom, Dad — Ethan still hasn't come to terms with what he did. He won't even apologize to the victim." "Let's not worry about him. With me and Vivian running the firm, you two can retire in peace." My parents looked at me with withering contempt. "Ethan. If Derek hadn't been managing the firm all these years, our life's work would've been gone." "If you still won't take responsibility, then you're on your own from here." The Maybach pulled away. I walked alone into the dark. Even my own parents didn't believe me. What a failure I'd made of being alive. But to survive, I made my way to a construction site and asked for labor work. The foreman took one look at my prosthetic and shook his head. "No. We don't take injured workers. Liability." I grabbed his arm. "I'm strong. Half wages. Just feed me." The foreman was about to shove me off when a cleaning woman nearby suddenly let out a sharp sound. "You... are you Mr. Cole?" I froze. I studied the woman. She grabbed my arm and pulled me around the corner, glancing left and right first. "Mr. Cole, I'm so sorry. Five years ago, Derek paid me a hundred thousand dollars to break the camera." "But I secretly made a recording. The conversation between him and Sophie — where they planned the whole setup — it's all there." "My conscience wouldn't let me destroy it. Please don't tell anyone it came from me." That night, I held the voice recorder in my hands. The tears came without warning. So that was how it was. Five years behind bars. A missing leg. A life in pieces. And now, finally — the truth.
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