Sorry for Misunderstanding You

**[Graystone Correctional Facility – Main Gate]** The iron gates groaned open behind her. Aileen stepped forward, a plastic bag in her left hand, a folded parole document in her right. The sun beat down like judgment, hot and unrelenting. After five years of fluorescent lights and recycled air, the sky felt too wide, too blue. She blinked, squinting, but didn't raise a hand to shield her eyes. She didn't want to appear weak—not out here. Across the street, a sleek black sedan idled, engine humming low. Her breath caught when she saw the driver's silhouette. He came. The driver's side door opened. Nathan Hart stepped out, suited in obsidian-black, as if mourning the version of himself that once loved her. His arms remained crossed, expression unreadable behind dark glasses. Aileen stared back, lips dry. “I didn't ask for an escort." Nathan didn't smile. “You didn't get one." “So why are you here?" A beat of silence. “To see if prison made you human." Her laugh came out cracked. “Guess you'll have to let me walk away to find out." “You won't get far." Aileen clutched the bag tighter. “Watch me." He tilted his head. “You look... thinner." She didn't respond. “Did they feed you in there? Or did the monsters I paid steal your tray every night?" Her eyes didn't flinch. “Does it satisfy you, knowing I survived anyway?" Nathan took off his sunglasses. His eyes—once the color of burnt honey—were now hardened, cooled amber. “No. I would've preferred you didn't." That one stung more than the rest. But Aileen had practiced for this moment. “You want me to beg? For forgiveness? For a ride?" She smirked. “Not today." He stepped closer. “Then let me make something clear. You're not going to find work, Aileen. Not in this city. Not with your name. My lawyers will see to that." “I know." “Then what's your plan?" She looked past him, toward the cracked sidewalk, the rust-stained bus sign. “To keep walking." Nathan's jaw clenched. “Tell me something," she asked softly. “Do you visit all the ex-cons you ruin?" “No. Just the ones who killed the woman I loved." Aileen's mouth opened, then shut. There was no point. He would never believe her. Not yet. “Goodbye, Nathan." She turned, feet dragging toward the road. “Don't pretend you're free," he called behind her. “You're just in a different cage now." She didn't look back. The sedan roared away, exhaust curling like smoke from old fires. --- **[Three Hours Later – Bus Depot Restroom]** The fluorescent light above the mirror buzzed. Aileen splashed water on her face, wiping off the grime of transit and old tears. Her reflection stared back, gaunt and pale, with bruises that had long since faded but still felt fresh. She whispered, “You're out. You're free." The mirror didn't believe her. She dried her face on a paper towel and pulled a crumpled sheet from her bag—job listings. Most were already circled, others crossed out. A knock startled her. “Occupied!" she said quickly. A second later, a female voice: “Hey, you done yet? We close at six." “Just a minute." She sighed, shoved the paper into her pocket, and opened the door. --- **[City Center – Diner #3]** “Are you hiring?" Aileen asked, smile practiced. The manager looked up from the counter. Middle-aged, balding, suspicious. “Name?" “Aileen Keller." His expression changed instantly. “No. We're full. Try elsewhere." “But your sign says—" “We just filled it." Her smile faltered. “Right." She turned, walked out. That was the third rejection today. --- **[Later – Outside a Boutique]** “Ma'am," a young woman said, handing back Aileen's resume with both hands, like it might burn her. “I'm so sorry. Management just told me the opening has been canceled." “Canceled?" “I'm really, really sorry." Aileen gave a slight nod. “You don't have to apologize. You're not the first." The clerk hesitated. “There's... been talk. Legal threats. From someone powerful." “I know who." Aileen folded the paper and tucked it away. --- **[Evening – Outside a Soup Kitchen]** Rain. Aileen stood under the awning, drenched, trembling, stomach twisting. Inside, she could see volunteers serving soup and bread to a line of men. A tall woman in an apron stepped outside. “Sorry, we're not able to serve you tonight." Aileen blinked. “Why?" “You're... on a restricted list." Her laugh was bitter. “A restricted list at a church?" “I'm sorry. Truly. Please leave." She walked back into the rain. --- **[Bus Shelter – Night]** Cold. Wet. Alone. Aileen curled into herself on the bench, arms wrapped tight. A cough rattled out of her chest. She reached into her bag and pulled out the smallest item she owned—an old pencil stub. No paper. She reached into her parole envelope and pulled the last page—an empty backside. And with the pencil, she began to sketch. Not Nathan's face. Not Jolene's. A kitten, curled in a box. Then a set of wings behind it. Her hand didn't stop. A napkin fluttered onto her lap from a passing gust. She sketched on that too. A face. His face. Gentle, almost kind. The version of him from her memories. From before. A shadow crossed her vision. A man in a hoodie, passing, paused. “Hey," he said, eyeing the sketch. “That Nathan Hart?" Aileen tensed. “Do I know you?" “Nope. Just recognize him. He owns Elysium, right?" Her voice was faint. “Yeah." He nodded. “He's a bastard." Aileen didn't reply. He smirked. “They say he's looking for someone. Girl just got outta Graystone." She went still. He stepped away. “Just rumors. You be safe." When he vanished into the night, Aileen exhaled. She looked down at the sketch, then folded it and tucked it deep inside her bag. The ache in her body had only deepened. But she was still breathing. Still remembering. Still moving. Despite the ache.