It feels like every time I turn on the TV, he’s there, staring right back at me.

We don’t get a lot of murders in Coldwyn, Maine. It’s a small town, a few miles from the coast, and it’s only claim to fame is the paper mill that employs pretty much the entire town. Seller Walker Paper is a titan in this part of the state, and as the daughter of Robert Seller, one of the founders and owners of Seller Walker, people like to think I’m smalltown royalty.

I don’t think I’m royalty. I think I’m more like a prisoner.

Five years ago, the murder of Lucinda Chavez, mother of three, was all over the news. The media obsessed about the case. It was heartbreaking, these poor little children left without their mother, all because of some monstrous drunk driver. It was a hit and run, with only one eyewitness, but that was enough to get the killer locked up. Good riddance too, Coldwyn doesn’t need a man like that running around its streets, and even better that his last name is Harper. That family is trash, plain and simple. Their son must be trash, too.

At least that was how everyone talked about it. Soon enough it disappeared from the conversation, but I never stopped thinking about it. Not even once.

Now, five years later, it’s back. Coldwyn doesn’t get a lot of murders, and they’ve never had a murder that was overturned due to a wrongful conviction. The news rocked the state, especially our little town.

I remember seeing him for the first time in years when I turned on the TV. It was Luke, coming out of the courthouse, head held high, flanked by his uncle and his lawyer. Luke looked into the camera and I thought he was staring right into me. His eyes were still that deep, incredible green, but there was a hardness in him. I still saw the boy I fell in love with, now five years older, but he was something else as well.

Two weeks pass, and the news doesn’t let up. They talk about Luke pretty much every day, and not a day goes by when I don’t see him staring back at me. I recognize him in my son Max, which is hard enough, but it’s even worse to see the man himself.

“Mommy, my castle is big.” I look over at Max and he smiles at me, waving his arms. A pile of Legos is in front of him, and he’s building a roughly castle-shaped structure.

“Very good, sweetie,” I say, smiling at him. He picks up a few more blocks and gets back to building.

I stare at the television. I don’t hear what the newscaster’s saying. I just see Luke, his eyes green like his son, his face handsome, his body still lean and muscular. It makes me think of all those nights together, his hands on my body, his mouth against mine.

That was the last time I was touched by a man, five years ago.

“Avery.”

I look up, surprised. My father’s standing in the door of the living room, a little frown on his face. He’s tall, about the same height as Luke actually, and rail thin. He’s a marathon runner, and it shows. His eyes are dark gray and his hair is thinning on the top, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s dressed for work, dress slacks and a polo shirt.

“Yes?” I answer.

He glances at the TV and back to me. “A word?”

I get up off the couch slowly. “Stay here, Maxy,” I say.

He just nods and keeps playing. I follow my father into the kitchen. He goes and pours himself a cup of coffee and I lean up against the counter, watching him carefully.

I was waiting for this conversation. I knew it was just a matter of time. We haven’t spoken about Luke in a few years, mainly because I’ve done as I was told, which always makes my daddy dearest happy. I live in his house, am dependent on his money, and I have no other choice. I’d be on the street if it weren’t for my parents. As it turns out, raising a child and trying to go to college isn’t exactly easy. I graduated from our local community college with a two-year degree, but I haven’t been able to find a full-time job. I work as a receptionist for a doctor in town, despite my father trying to get me to come to work for him at the mill.

I don’t want to be any more reliant on him than I have to be. Eventually I’ll get a real full-time job and move out. If it weren’t for my little project these last five years, I’d have enough saved up already, but as it is, I’m stuck.

So I do as daddy says, and I wait, just like I always have.

“You’ve been watching the news,” he says to me, sipping his coffee. It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” I say.

“And you know he’s out?”

I nod slowly. “I know.”

“Doesn’t change a thing.”

His words don’t surprise me, but they still hurt. “He didn’t do it,” I say softly to him, trying to contain my rage.

That’s all I’ve been doing these last five years, trying to contain my rage.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says to me. “You think that’s the only reason we wanted you to stay away from him?”

“Yes,” I say. “That’s what you said. He’s a killer, he’s not good for me. But he’s not. He was innocent.”

“He’s a Harper,” Daddy says, as if that proves anything. “He’s trash. His whole family is trash. He got my only girl pregnant at eighteen and left her alone to raise her son.”

I clench my jaw. “He didn’t exactly run off.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He locks eyes with me. “Stay away from him, Avery. Nothing’s changed. You still need our help, and don’t forget it. I want to take care of you and my grandson, but I won’t have that fucking kid around here.”

I have to take a deep breath to keep from screaming at him. But as soon as the need to rage and shout comes on me, I let it pass over and wash away like I’ve done countless times.

I’ve gotten good at keeping myself calm.

“Whatever you say, Daddy.”

He smiles. “Good. That’s my girl.” He pats my shoulder. “You got work today?”

I shake my head. “Tomorrow.”

“Good. Very good.” He gives me one more look before walking off, heading back upstairs.

I stand in the kitchen, shaking like a leaf.

Luke’s a free man now, but I can’t see him. It’s like everything I did just doesn’t matter. I can work all I want, but in the end, Luke Harper is just trash and my family will never accept him.

Although I don’t even know if he wants to see me. He’s been out for two weeks and I haven’t heard from him. I can’t really be angry about that. I didn’t write to him, didn’t call, didn’t visit. I didn’t even tell him when his son was born. I’m guessing his uncle let him know, but I can’t be sure. His mom passed while he was away, and I didn’t even send my condolences.

Five years and not a word. It killed me every single day, but I did what I had to do. I got my associate’s degree. I got a job. I took care of my son. And I didn’t give up.

Now he’s free, and I can’t even go see him. I’ve been waiting for him all this time, the only person that believed in his innocence, and yet it feels like he’s still in jail.

“Mommy, look! Look! Castle!” Max climbs to his feet and kicks the Legos, sending them scattering all over.

I sigh. “Max, you shouldn’t do that,” I say. “Don’t make a mess.”

“I don’t make a mess,” Max says, climbing up onto the couch. “I don’t mess, I don’t mess, I don’t mess.”

I sigh and smile to myself. Just like his dad, headstrong and stubborn. I head out into the living room to be with my son, while on the television the man that I helped free gives me that same familiar look over and over and over again.