My heart pounded as I risked a glance at Claire.She met my eyes briefly before turning back to her conversation partner.
“Well, everyone needs a place to escape now and then,” she said with a shrug.
“True enough,” the guest agreed.
I forced myself to relax and focus on breakfast.The conversation continued around me, but I tuned it out, focusing instead on the task at hand—eating quickly and getting out of there before any more recognition could occur.
I couldn’t shake it.The conversation replayed in my head, over and over, each word striking like a hammer.I knew what I did in Hong Kong was right.No regrets about the decisions I made.Lives were saved; that’s what mattered.But still, there was this gnawing sense of shame I couldn't place.
As I finished my breakfast, I watched Claire move through the room.How many conversations like this had she had?How often did people come in here, recognize my face or hear whispers of my past?Did she protect me each time?Keep my secrets without me asking?What did she know?Did she look into it?What did she think of me?
The idea made me uncomfortable.Not because of her actions, but because of the burden it placed on her.It wasn't fair to drag her into my past, into the mess I was trying to escape.Yet here she was, navigating it with grace.
And if she had looked it up…
Then what?
I couldn't blame her, but it felt like a violation.Even if it wasn't a secret.
She approached my table with a pot of coffee, interrupting my racing thoughts.“Need a refill?”she asked, her eyes searching mine.
“Yeah, thanks.”I pushed my cup toward her.
She poured slowly, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words.
“Look,” she began, her voice low so only I could hear, “you don’t owe anyone explanations.Not even me.”
“I know,” I replied, not meeting her gaze.
“But if you ever want to talk about it...”she let the offer hang in the air.
I looked up at her then, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes.“I appreciate that,” I said simply.
She nodded and moved on to the next table.As much as I wanted to confide in her, something held me back.Maybe it was pride or fear—fear that once I started talking about it, I'd never be able to stop.
And to put a burden like that on her?
Hell, my own country didn't want to hear about it.They didn't want anyone to know about it.
I finished my coffee and stood up to leave.Claire glanced over at me from across the room but didn’t say anything.
Stepping outside, the cold air hit me like a wall.I took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind.The shame still clung to me like a shadow.Why did it linger?Why couldn't I just let it go?
The street was empty as I started walking again.Each step brought me no closer to answers but further from the inn and its warmth.
The past had a way of haunting you no matter how far you ran or how well you hid.And Hong Kong was no different.
The woodpile stood in the corner of the yard.The ax lay nearby, its handle worn smooth from countless grips.I picked it up, feeling its familiar weight in my hands.There was something comforting about the simplicity of chopping wood.No room for thoughts, just action.
I set a log on the chopping block, raised the ax, and brought it down with a satisfying thud.The log split cleanly in two, and I moved on to the next one.Each swing of the ax was a release, each split log a small victory over my racing mind.
Claire's face kept creeping into my thoughts, her eyes full of understanding that I didn't deserve.Her touch lingered on my skin, a warmth I couldn't afford to let in.With every chop, I tried to sever those feelings, to cut them away like the wood beneath my blade.
I couldn't kiss her again.
The realization hit me like a blow to the gut.I couldn't drag her into my world, filled with shadows and secrets.My country didn't want me—an outcast with too much blood on his hands.That wasn't something I could put on her shoulders.
I split another log, the force of my swing driven by frustration.She deserved better than what I could offer.Better than a man haunted by his past and running from it at every turn.
