After all those years locked up, freedom hit like a damn drug. Everything felt more intense—the sun was brighter, the air was lighter. This was it, his new life… or, well, his old one with a fresh coat of paint. He had a lot to catch up on—rebuilding connections, figuring out all the new tech, and getting used to a world that had moved on without him. But most of all? He wanted to go home. Back to the one person he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past nine years.

Getting there was a bitch. The prison practically dumped him on the curb with a bag of his shit and twenty bucks—barely enough for a bus ticket out of town. He ended up hitching a ride in the back of a pickup, curled under his jacket, listening to some twangy-ass country song blasting from the cab. Didn’t matter. He could deal with the stench of sheep crap and the fact that the driver definitely had serial killer vibes.

A few more miles on foot, and there it was—his old porch, just like he remembered. Except now there were flowers out front, and the whole place looked… nicer. Cleaner. The spare key was still under the same rock, and when he stepped inside, the scent of last night’s dinner and—perfume—hit him.

For a second, it almost felt like a dream. Until he noticed the little things. An extra plate in the sink. A second glass on the counter. A jacket draped over the back of the couch that sure as hell wasn’t his.

His stomach twisted, but he didn’t slow down. He knew what he was about to see, but it didn’t stop him from stomping up the stairs, heart hammering.

“Darling! Guess who’s back from jail!” he shouted, already charging down the hall toward the bedroom door. “Daddy’s home!”