HUSH, MY EX-CONVICT HEART

CHAPTER ONE: STARTING FROM SCRATCH

ZORA'S POV

The last time I walked through a gate, I was getting locked behind it. But today, that gate was being opened.

Five years.

Five whole years of being locked up in this hellhole and now that I'm out, I had no idea what to do next.

I looked around.

Everything else looked just the same. But I was the only thing that had changed.

I closed my eyes, took a long, deep breath, and forced a small smile on my face.

“Zora!!!” A long excited voice called out.

I opened my eyes and saw Gina, my best friend in the whole world, running towards me.

She had tears in her eyes as she hugged me so tightly.

“Oh my gosh, I'm so glad you're out,” she said as she pulled away after some time.

“Well, I was released on account of good behavior,” I replied with a small smile.

My mind went back to what the parole board had told me yesterday.

“We’ve been watching you closely and we’ve seen that you've been in your best behavior so we've decided to release you on account of good behavior, but…”

“You must be hungry. Let's get you home,” Gina said as she pulled me towards her car - not luxurious-looking but drivable.

We arrived at her place, very modest.

“You moved out of your old apartment?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she replied as she struggled with the keys.

“I had some issues with the other apartment I was staying at before you…”

She turned to look at me with an apologetic look. I immediately understood what she meant.

I smiled.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

I waved it off.

“It's fine. You can say it. I'm out now, right?” I replied.

She opened the door and we walked in.

“Welcome to my home, which makes it your new home. Make yourself comfortable,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said while I sat down on one of the sofas.

Before I could turn back, she had disappeared into one of the rooms. I took the time to look around the living area.

Cream-colored curtains adorned the windows, white sofas in the living area, and a 32-inch television. Behind me was the dining area.

Everything looked pretty decent.

“Are you ready to eat now?” Gina's voice brought me back.

“Sure,” I replied.

“You have a nice place here.”

She chuckled.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“I've set the table. Please have some breakfast, get some rest and I'll see you later in the evening. I have to get to the bakery,” she said.

“Okay,” I answered and watched as she left the apartment.

I had a long, warm bath - one thing I couldn't have in prison.

I wore some of Gina's clothes and had breakfast. In no time, I slept off on Gina's cozy bed. But by the time Gina got back from the bakery, dinner was ready.

“Something smells nice here. Did you cook?” She said as she came into the apartment.

I shrugged.

“I just made us a little dinner," I replied.

She looked at the dining table and gasped.

“You know you didn't have to, right. You're a guest in my home,” she said.

“And how else am I supposed to thank you for letting me into your home?” I replied.

She joined me at the dining table and we ate dinner together before retiring to bed.

The rest of that week was spent staying at home and getting used to life outside of prison.

The following week, I started looking for a job but no one was willing to take me, because of the employment gap in my resume, which I wasn't ready to tell anyone about.

At some point, I stopped trying because it was clear that no one was going to give an ex-convict a job.

I remember the words of the senior officer I was released from prison.

“You've been monitored for a while and the parole board has decided to let you go on account of good behavior but you have to get yourself a job and failure to get a job means consequences will be faced.”

I sighed in frustration.

How was I supposed to get a job when no one was willing to give me one?

“How did your interview go?” Gina asked me during dinner one night.

“I know I'm not getting the job,” I replied sadly.

“Don't say that, Zo,” she cautioned lightly.

“I'm only stating the facts, G. I saw the way the receptionist looked at me when she said they'd be in touch. I just knew they wouldn't be in touch,” I said, playing with my fork on my plate.

Then I dropped my fork and looked at her, tears welling up in my eyes.

“I don't want to go back to prison, G,” I said.

Her hands wrapped around mine in a comforting way.

There was silence for a while before she spoke again, full of hope.

“How about working with me at the bakery?” She offered.

My eyes lit up.

“Really? You'll do that for me?” I asked excitedly.

“Of course, you're my best friend, sister even,” Gina said.

And that was how I began working at the bakery. Working at the bakery was a much-welcome distraction - one I desperately needed.

I had something to wake up for.

Something to keep my mind distracted from eating itself alive.

One day, my parole officer came to see me at the bakery.

“I see you're doing really nicely. Keep it up and you'll never have to see the four corners of that cell,” she said.

It sounded more like a threat than an encouragement.

One afternoon, I took a stroll to the park. I needed air. Someplace that wasn't Gina's apartment or the bakery.

That's when my eyes caught them - the mother and her child playing together on the slide. The little girl couldn't be more than 5 years old.

She let out a cute little laugh that most little children had - carefree and from-the-belly kind of laughter.

Unlike me, she had no worries in the world.

And her mother was just happy to be there to make her smile.

Unconsciously, my hands moved to my stomach and I slightly pressed against it.

I was three months pregnant when I was arrested. I never knew until I was in prison. I was feeling sick and the prison doctor decided to run a test on me and I was confirmed pregnant.

Six months later, I gave birth to my baby in the prison medical ward. I had no one there with me.

No Gina. No family.

Just me, the doctor and the assisting nurses.

I was allowed to carry my baby for just a few seconds before it was snatched away from me and taken out of prison.

“Tell me its gender at least,” I begged but the doctor and nurses refused to tell me anything.

It has been 5 years and I still don't know my baby's gender.

How I wished I could see my baby.

Carry them in my arms.

Could they still be alive? I wondered.

My heart ached at the thought of my baby being away from me. After a while, I got up and left the park.

I couldn't sleep that night. I kept thinking about my child and wondering if they were safe wherever they were.

I'm going to find you even if I don't know how yet, I thought.

That was the only promise I made to myself.

And I intended to keep it.