Took the Blame for 3 Years, Now I'm Selling Sweet Potatoes at My Ex's Engagement Part

New Year's Eve, and I was pushing a rusted roasting cart through the frozen streets, hawking sweet potatoes to anyone who'd spare a glance.

Three years free. Three years out of prison.

The wind cut like a straight razor against my cheeks. Through the howl of it, someone called my name.

I lifted my head.

Liam Delgado.

Charlotte Swanson stood just behind himthe *real* daughter of the Swanson family. Their whole entourage dripped designer labels, glittering under the streetlights like they'd stepped out of a magazine spread. Ready to ring in the New Year in style.

Liam's gaze dropped to my hands. Red. Swollen. The skin cracked and bleeding from the cold.

"Freya Swanson?"

That voice. Still the same deep, cool baritone that used to make my pulse stutter.

I picked up a roasted sweet potato, the heat seeping through my ruined fingers, and held it out.

"Want one? It's hot."

He didn't take it.

He just stared, his eyes dark, unreadable. "Is this what you've been doing?"

I nodded. Pulled my hand back.

"Liam, *come on*!" Charlotte's voice sliced through the air. She tugged at his arm, her manicured nails flashing. "The fireworks are about to start!"

He turned away. Merged into the dazzling sea of lights without a single glance back.

I exhaled a cloud of white mist and rubbed my stinging hands together.

Loneliness is loudest in a crowd.

I watched their silhouettes dissolve into the brilliant explosion of fireworks overhead. And just like that, a jagged tear ripped through my memory.

Five years ago, I found out I was pregnant.

That same year, Charlotte Swanson returned to claim her birthright. She caused a hit-and-run and fled the scene, but the surveillance cameras caught her plates.

Liam came to me then.

He asked me to take the fall.

He said that because I was pregnant, I could apply to serve my sentence outside of prison. My parents piled on, their voices a chorus of guilt and obligation. It was the only way to *compensate* Charlotte for the years she'd missed with the family, they said.

So I did it.

I got the abortion alone. In secret. Then I walked into the police station and turned myself in.

The judge gave me two years.

Prison was a hell far worse than anything I'd imagined.

My cellmate hated me on sight. When she asked what I was in for, I told her the truthI was taking the blame for someone else.

She laughed. "Idiot."

From that day on, she made my life a nightmare. Picked fights. Shoved me into walls. Tripped me in the corridors. One night, she threw a blanket over my head from behind and rained fists onto the back of my skull until the world went black.

I blacked out multiple times.

When I finally woke, the world tilted on a broken axis. Bile burned in my throat.

After that, my body stopped obeying me. My hands trembled. My feet dragged. When I walked, I listed to the side like a ship taking on water.

The guards eventually dragged me to the prison doctor. He diagnosed it as brain damagecerebellar ataxiaand said I needed systematic rehabilitation.

But the prison's resources were limited.

They gave me painkillers and sent me back to my cell.

The day I was released, no one came.

I stood outside those iron gates clutching my meager belongings, the sunlight stabbing my eyes like needles.

With a criminal record and a disability, finding work was like trying to scale a wall of glass.

I tried delivering food, but I couldn't balance on the e-bike. During a turn, my center of gravity shifted, and I crashed into the roadside shrubbery. Meals scattered everywhere.

I tried waitressing at a small diner. But while carrying a bowl of hot soup, my hand spasmed. Scalding liquid splashed onto a customer's lap.

He flew into a rage. Slapped me across the face. Then kept swinging.

The boss paid him off and told me to get lost.

In the end, I spent my last savings on a secondhand roasting cart. It didn't require steady hands. And I didn't have to look anyone in the eye.

*Bang!*

Fireworks exploded overhead, one after another, painting the night in brilliant, fleeting color.

I lowered my head. Rearranged the unsold potatoes in the stove. Started to pack up.

The cold seeped through the thin soles of my shoes, turning my stiff legs to lead.

Just as I gripped the cart's handle, a prickle ran up the back of my neck.

Someone was watching.

Instinct dragged my gaze upward.

Liam had stopped.

He was looking back.

Through the swaying lights and drifting smoke, his expression was impossible to read, but his posture was rigid. He just stood there. Staring.

Panic seized my chest. I shoved the cart forward, desperate to escape that gaze.

The wheels hit a patch of uneven pavement.

Jolted hard.

My balance was already a disaster. The sudden motion threw my weight forward, and I pitched toward the hot stove, barely catching myself on the cart's edge.

My legsuseless, unresponsivescrambled beneath me.

But my legs were dead weight. Useless logs that refused to obey.

I shuffled awkwardly, fighting for balance. Every step was clumsy. Grotesque. One shoulder hiked up, the other dipped low, my whole body twisting against gravity like a marionette with tangled strings.

"*Pfft*"

A sharp, clear snicker cut through the cold air.

I froze. Locked in that twisted, pathetic posture. Too terrified to turn around.

But the voices drilled into my skull anyway.

"What is she *doing*? Dancing?" Saccharine. Mocking. Charlotte.

"Why does she walk like that? It looks... wrong." Another woman.

"It looks *pitiful*."

The fragmented laughter and cruel whispers blended with the festive New Year cheers, stabbing into a back that had long since gone numb to insults. My spine stiffened. My fingers dug into the wooden handle until my knuckles went white.

I didn't turn around.

I only heard the crisp *clack-clack-clack* of approaching heels.

Anna Finch. Charlotte's best frienda woman who always looked at people like they were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

She walked straight up to my cart. Reached out.

*Clang.*

She flipped the rusty tin cash box by the stove.

Coins and crumpled bills scattered across the wet pavement.

My head buzzed. Without thinking, I dropped into a crouch, clawing at the money. My frozen fingers were stiff, slow, pathetically clumsy.

A folded piece of paper slipped from my pocket.

My medical diagnosis.

A shiny leather shoe stepped onto the corner.

I followed the crease of the trousers upward.

Liam.

He bent down, pinching the damp corner of the paper between two fingers, and unfolded it.

I stayed crouched in the slush, looking up at him. Behind his silhouette, fireworks continued to burst, the flickering light catching the sharp line of his jaw, the furrow between his brows.

The diagnosis read clearly: *Sequelae of traumatic brain injury. Cerebellar ataxia. Systematic rehabilitation recommended.*

Liam's gaze shifted from the page to my face.

For one secondjust onea tremor passed through his eyes. A crack in the ice.

"Liam, what are you looking at?"

Charlotte leaned over, glancing at the paper. A scoff escaped her glossed lips.

"Oh my *god*. What is this act? Forging medical records now?" She tilted her head, her smile razor-sharp. "Freya, I haven't seen you in years, but your methods for fishing sympathy have really kept up with the times."

Liam's grip on the paper tightened.

The flicker of emotion vanished. Replaced by cold furythe look of a man who believed he was being played.

"Freya Swanson." His voice dripped with disdain. "Your acting is impeccable."

He flicked his wrist.

The diagnosis sheet sailed through the air and landed in a nearby trash can.

He turned, grabbing Charlotte's hand. "Let's go."

As Charlotte let him pull her away, she cast a quick, meaningful glance at Anna and the others.

They understood the assignment.

The moment Liam's figure disappeared into the crowd, they surrounded me.

One of them lashed out, kicking the side of my cart.

The stove overturned with a deafening crash. Scalding sweet potatoes spilled out, rolling through the dirty snow.

I stared at the mess. My blood ran cold.

"Bad people! You're *bad* people!"

A childish, slurring voice shouted from the distance.

Xavier Kelley.

I'd first met Xavier squatting under a bridge. An old scavenger told me a high fever in childhood had damaged his brain, and his family had thrown him away like garbage. Seeing a reflection of my own misery, I always saved a sweet potato for him.

He came running now, his matted hair bouncing wildly. The moment he saw the potatoes on the ground, he dropped into a squat to help me gather them.

"Don't pick them up! They're dirty" The words caught in my throat.

Anna snickered.

She lifted her stiletto heel and brought it downhardon the back of Xavier's hand.

"*Ah!*"

His scream tore through the night.

"One idiot, one cripple." Anna's lip curled. "What a perfect match."

Her companions erupted in jeering laughter.

Xavier's scream pierced my eardrums, burrowing into my skull.

My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1.

"Oh?" Anna's sharp eyes caught the movement. Her laughter died. "Trying to call the police?"

A man beside her strode forward. Before I could react, a blinding pain exploded in my toes.

His kick sent the phone flying from my grip. It skittered across the pavement and dropped straight into an open storm drain.

That phone.

I'd saved for *months* to buy it.

I lunged forward, crashing to my knees in the filthy slush. My fingers curled around the rusted iron grate as I peered down into the darkness.

Laughter. Pointing fingers. They circled me like vultures.

The acrid stench of sewage and rot billowed up from below. I held my breath and shoved my entire arm through the grate, groping blindly through the sludge.

Cold. Wet. Something slimy slid across my wrist.

When my fingers finally closed around the device, I yanked it up and clutched it to my chest. The foul smell of the sewer clung to my skin, my clothes, my hair.

I knelt there, shivering violently.

*Dong*

The massive clock in the distant square began to toll.

*Dong*

The crowd erupted into a roar.

"Happy New Year!"

The shout surged from every direction like a tidal wave, washing over the city in a flood of joy.

I lowered my head. Looked at the sweet potatoes trampled to paste. At Xavier, curled on the ground, cradling his crushed hand and whimpering.

A hard lump formed in my throat. Choking me. Making me cough.

Tears burst from my eyes without warning.

Like a broken doll, I knelt in the middle of the busiest street in the cityamidst the fireworks, the cheering, the promise of new beginningsand cried until my chest felt hollow.

A complete and utter mess.

Back in my rental rooma suffocating box barely a hundred square feetI scrubbed the filth from my skin until the water ran cold.

I changed into my worn, pilling pajamas. As I towel-dried my hair, my phone screen lit up.

*Freya, tomorrow is my fifty-fifth birthday. You haven't come home in a long time. If you have time, come over. - Dad.*

I stared at the text. Read it again. And again. The screen went dark. I lit it up, wanting to reply.

The words wouldn't come.

The next day, I went to a cheap gift shop at the end of the street. After agonizing over the options for far too long, I pointed to a suede box.

"That one."

Following the address, I arrived at the familiar villa.

I rang the doorbell. Aunt Maya, the old housekeeper, answered.

She froze when she saw me. Pity and surprise warred across her face. "Miss Swanson... you came."

The living room was decked out in flowers and ribbons. Guests held champagne flutes, their chatter filling the air with the mingled scent of expensive perfume and wine.

The moment I limped through the doorway, the room went silent.

Countless eyes locked onto me.

"Oh, look who it is. The Swanson family's... *former* daughter?"

"Didn't she go to prison? How is she out already?"

"I heard she sells sweet potatoes on the street now. Look at her walk... she's *crippled*."

"Tsk. How embarrassing."

The whispers were needles in my skull.

Then I saw her.

Charlotte.

She stood in the center of the crowd, draped in a rhinestone-encrusted gown, leaning possessively against Liam. Bright. Beautiful.

Triumphant.

My father, Miles Swanson, detached himself from the group and walked toward me.

A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face, but he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a business card.

"Freya, it's good you came. The past... well, let's not dwell on it." He held out the card. "This is an administrative position at a friend's company. Easy work. Given your... legs... it's suitable. Go try it."

I looked at the gold-embossed card.

I didn't take it.

"No need. I can support myself."

My father's expression darkened.

Suddenly, my mother, Lucy James, rushed over. She snatched the business card from his hand.

"Freya Swanson!" Her voice was a hiss. "Your father *kindly* arranged a job for you, and you're being ungrateful? Look at yourselfdo you really think you're still the eldest Miss Swanson?"

"Today is Charlotte and Liam's engagementdon't embarrass yourself."

*Engagement?*

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

I had actually come to attend my ex-boyfriend's engagement banquet.

"Big Sister is here, too?"

Charlotte Swanson interrupted my thoughts, her gaze locking onto the gift bag in my hand.

"You brought a gift? What is it? Let me see."

She didn't wait for an answer. She marched over and reached for it.

Instinctively, I tightened my grip on the cord, but she yanked it away with surprising force.

Charlotte's deft fingers tore open the wrapping. She popped the suede box open.

Inside, the utterly ordinary fountain pen lay exposed to the room.

Silence fell like a heavy curtain.

Then came the snickers. The shaking heads.

"That brand isn't that from the supermarket?"

"Well, it's the thought that counts, I suppose though it's a cheap thought."

Charlotte covered her mouth, giggling, before casually tossing the box and pen to her nanny, Maya Dickerson.

Like it was trash.

I stood there, frozen. Humiliated.

Without a word, I turned and headed for the door.

Behind me, Liam Delgado's vows echoed through the hall.

"Charlotte, from the moment I saw you, I knew you were the one I was destined to find."

"I will spend the rest of my life protecting you"

*Protecting her.*

Broken images flashed before my eyes.

A teenage Liam, kneeling outside my house in the pouring rain, trembling yet stubborn, waiting the entire night. All because I had said in a fit of anger, *"Unless you kneel until dawn."*

And that night by the riversidefireworks blooming behind him. He held flowers, dropping to one knee.

*"Freya Swanson! I love you! Be my girlfriend!"*

The floor beneath my feet lurched, severing the memory.

Above, the massive crystal chandelier swayed violently, glass clinking like wind chimes in a storm.

"Earthquake!"

For a split second, dead silence.

Then chaos explodedscreams, crashing furniture, the shattering of glass.

The crowd became a stampede. Tables overturned. Chairs flew.

The panic swept me up, bodies shoving me sideways like a current dragging me under.

A hand clamped around my wrist like an iron manacle and yanked me backward.

My balance vanished. I stumbled, crashed to the floor.

The back of my head struck something harda dull thud echoed through my skull, and my vision blackened for a second.

I struggled to rise.

A heavy weight slammed onto my back.

Someone stepped on me.

A muffled groan escaped my lips, my face pressed against the cold marble tiles.

"Charlotte! Charlotte, where are you?!"

Liam's voice pierced the chaos, frantic and close.

He had already rushed over. Amidst the terrified herd, he had eyes only for Charlotte Swanson.

He hauled her into his arms, shielding her with his broad back as he pushed through the crowd.

He hurried past me.

The tip of his expensive shoe grazed my fingers.

My vision blurred. The screaming crowd began to fade, drifting away like a receding tide.

Darkness swallowed me whole.