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Michael had always sensed that something like this might happen.

His wife was several years younger than him, and back when they first met, his impressive career and social standing made it easy for him to win over the heart of a young woman. It wasn't just about love—it was also about offering her a life she couldn't refuse. People craved comfort, luxury, security—call it what you will, but deep down, everyone wanted what he could provide.

Michael knew he was older, but he had stability, income, and status—all things a young woman fresh out of college, bruised and battered by her first stumbles into adulthood, found hard to resist. While her former classmates and coworkers were still scraping by in dingy apartments in the lower districts, paying rent with either meager wages or worse, Michael's wife lounged in their spacious home, painting her nails with polishes other women envied but couldn't afford. She gave orders to the house staff, slept late into the morning, indulged in afternoon naps, and binge-watched TV shows late into the night. Life was good—almost too good. So comfortable, in fact, that she hadn't changed much since those early days when she decided marrying Michael would make her future easier.

She lacked work skills, survival instincts, any real ability to navigate the world on her own—and Michael knew it. But he'd never pushed her to change. Why should she bother working when his job seemed secure? Director Johnson wasn't a demanding boss, and Michael himself held a respectable position within Sabin City's tax office. With ambitions of climbing even higher, why would the future "First Lady" of the tax bureau need to punch a clock like everyone else?

He loved her—or at least, he thought he did. Sometimes, though, he wondered if it was really her he loved, or simply the idea of her youth, her beauty, or maybe even the pride of having such a trophy wife. Colleagues teased him behind his back, calling him the thirty-year-old man who married a teenager. He laughed along, but privately, doubts gnawed at him.

And then came the day everything shifted. The moment he stepped through the door of the prison, he realized there was no going back. His wife couldn't support herself, let alone their child. Even with some savings tucked away and Director Johnson promising early release under certain conditions, there would still be years where she'd have to fend for herself. Their finances wouldn't stretch far enough—not with both sets of parents unwilling to shoulder the burden of raising a grandchild, not with bills piling up.

Deep down, Michael had braced himself for the possibility of divorce, or something equally drastic. What he hadn't expected was how quickly things would spiral out of control. Less than a year later, his wife was pregnant—with another man's child.

Her visit to the prison was meant to seek advice. The father of the baby wanted her to keep it, but she didn't know what to do. She'd never made a major decision on her own before; now, faced with one of the biggest choices of her life, she turned to the husband she barely consulted anymore.

The situation was brutal, almost grotesque. The man involved already had a family and no intention of leaving it. Divorce or not, Michael's wife would remain nothing more than a mistress—a kept woman dependent on someone else's generosity.

What broke Michael, though, wasn't just the betrayal. It was hearing her talk about the mounting debts and concerns for their son, Michael Jr.. Since being coerced into confessing to a crime he didn't commit, the boy had become a pariah at his private school. Classmates ostracized him, labeling him a thief and the son of a criminal. Once lively and cheerful, he now walked around withdrawn, weighed down by shame and anxiety. Therapy sessions revealed that continuing in this toxic environment risked triggering severe psychological issues. Moving schools and neighborhoods seemed like the only solution—but solutions cost money. A lot of it.

Therapy fees, tuition payments, rental deposits, commuting costs—it all added up. Money became the final straw. In silence, Michael accepted his wife's choice. Whether she chose to keep the child or not was hers to decide. After all, the other man promised to cover the bills, maintain their household help, and even fund therapy for Michael Jr.. Confronting her infidelity felt futile. The idea of demanding they leave their home and move to a cramped apartment in a rough neighborhood, scraping by with weekly rent paid through humiliating means just to stay afloat, seemed too cruel. And sending Michael Jr. to those godawful public schools in the slums—free but utterly failing—only to watch him inevitably fall into the grip of street gangs? Or worse, should he stand by and let them bear the unbearable weight of it all, possibly even resorting to taking their own lives?

For Michael, the choices felt painfully limited. In the end, he chose the children—the one growing inside her womb and the one struggling to survive outside it.

For the first time, Michael felt small, powerless, utterly insignificant. Not even imprisonment had humbled him like this.

Gap, watching Michael sob uncontrollably beside him, felt conflicted. Pity mixed with relief. Unlike Michael, Gap had divorced Vera long before entering prison, dividing assets fairly and encouraging her to pursue certification as an accountant. At the time, he'd only wanted her busy enough to stop interfering with his work-life balance. Now, however, those decisions shielded him from the kind of despair consuming Michael.

As the saying goes, happiness is relative—it's about doing better than the poor soul next to you. And right now, Gap considered himself lucky. He tried comforting Michael: "Stay strong, buddy. Think of your kids. Things aren't as bad as they seem."

Neither man suspected that Michael Jr.'s struggles extended beyond bullying—he was grappling with questions about his identity, his sexuality. If they had known, perhaps their perspectives would've shifted entirely.

"I… I just needed to cry," Michael sniffled, wiping snot and tears with his sleeve. "It helps. Thank you, Gap. I'll pull myself together—for my kid."

After venting, Michael grew calmer, resigned to his fate. Resistance felt pointless. Silence stretched between them until Michael finally spoke again. "Those law books you're reading—can I borrow them once you're done?"

There was determination in his eyes, a flicker of resolve. He wanted to change. Looking back, Michael recognized his flaws—his temper, his ignorance of the law. Many frontline law enforcement officers operated on instinct rather than knowledge, stumbling over legal definitions and procedures. Had Michael understood the system better, maybe he wouldn't be sitting here today.

Gap, who had started studying law upon arrival, admired Michael's newfound drive. Even in prison, transformation remained possible. "Of course," Gap replied, welcoming the shared intellectual pursuit. Together, they formed an unlikely alliance, two men convinced of their innocence yet united by circumstance. Their makeshift study corner promised growth, camaraderie, and redemption.

---

The next day, while Gap immersed himself in his studies, a guard approached politely. "Gap, you have visitors."

Gap paused, surprised. Rising from his bunk, he grabbed his light blue prison uniform and shrugged it on. "Do I get to know who it is beforehand?"

The guard shook his head. "Sorry. All I know is it's two men."

Minutes later, escorted through the corridors, Gap arrived not at the usual visiting room but at the warden's office. Pushing open the door, he squinted against the bright sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Framed against the glare stood a familiar silhouette.

"Mr. Gap," the figure said, turning slightly. "We meet again."

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