She Thought Her Husband Had Died In Prison. But He Had Been Living Next Door For 10 Years
…
There had been dates, meaningless encounters, but nothing more.
It was as if part of her heart had remained in that coffin.
Under a simple granite slab with the inscription, Dexter Washington, beloved husband.
Tell him I’m busy, she said buttoning her jacket.
I’m going to spend the day with a good book and a bottle of wine.
Leaving the hospital, Shania headed for the bus stop.
Once, she and Dex had dreamed of owning a car, but now, even as a senior nurse with a decent salary, she still used public transportation.
Her money went to pay for a new, more spacious apartment in a better neighborhood, and to help her younger sister.
The bus trudged along the evening streets of the Bronx as usual.
Shania looked out the window at the flashing store signs, the yellow spots of street lights, and people hurrying home.
It was surprisingly warm for April.
Maybe tomorrow she would go to the park.
Three blocks from the bus stop, in a small apartment on the first floor of a dilapidated building, a man was getting ready for the night shift.
Malik Johnson, as his neighbors and employer knew him, pulled a glove over his immobile right hand.
With his left hand, he buttoned his shirt.
Years of adapting to his disability had taught him to manage everyday tasks with one hand, but it always took longer.
The mirror in the tiny bathroom reflected a face that could only be described as frightening.
Deep scars crisscrossed the skin, leaving bizarre pits and ridges.
The right side of his face was more severely damaged.
His eye was deeply sunken.
His cheekbone was misshapen, and part of his ear was missing.
Malik, formerly Dexter Washington, put on his dark glasses and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head with a practiced movement.
“It’s going to hurt again today”.
he muttered, looking at the cloudy sky outside the window.
Changes in the weather always intensified the pain in his damaged nerve endings.
The aching, throbbing pain would accompany him throughout the night.
Malik worked as a night watchman at an electronics warehouse a few blocks from his home.
The job, which didn’t require much interaction, suited him perfectly.
He spent most of his shift alone, walking the empty corridors of the warehouse, checking locks and watching the surveillance monitors.
In all that time, only one colleague, an elderly security guard named Rufus, had ever seen him without his glasses.
Rufus never asked any questions and Malik was grateful to him for that.
Leaving his apartment, Malik headed to work along his usual route.
The route took him past Shanaya’s house, not by accident.
Every day before his shift, he passed by her windows hoping to catch a glimpse of her, to make sure she was okay.
10 years.
For 10 long years, he had lived next door, watching from afar as the life of the woman he once called his wife unfolded.
He saw her move to a new neighborhood, get a promotion, change her hairstyle and clothes.
He saw the men who occasionally walked her to her door, but none of them stayed for long.
Today, Malik noticed Shanaya getting off the bus.
She looked tired, but her gait still had the same energy he had loved so much.
He kept a safe distance, hiding in the evening shadows.
He waited until she entered the building, made sure the lights were on in her third floor apartment, and only then continued on his way.
Dex.
Malik often thought of himself by his real name when he was alone.
It was always difficult to explain why he continued this strange ghostly existence.
Wouldn’t it be easier to leave, start from scratch in a new city where no one knew his story? But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t leave Shania unattended, unprotected.
She would never know, but he was her shadow, her invisible guardian.
Reaching the warehouse, Malik nodded to the guard at the entrance and went inside.
After handing over his shift, he began his duties.
First, he made his rounds, checked the locks, and signed the logbook.
It was a routine that had filled his nights for 7 years.
Hey Johnson, have you heard the news? His partner, the elderly Rufus, asked him when they met in the security room for a short break.
What news? Malik didn’t like small talk, but Rufus was the only person he could call a friend.
Mad Dog’s back in our neighborhood, Rufus said, taking a sip of coffee from his thermos.
He got out of prison last week.
Malik froze.
Mad Dog, Jamal Crooks, the man who had turned his face into a mask of horror.
Are you sure? He asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.
Absolutely.
My brother-in-law works for the police.
Rufus shrugged.
He says the lunatic has already caused trouble.
Beat up some guy in a bar on Lexington Avenue.
Malik stared into his coffee cup, but saw something else entirely.
A barrel of chemicals, Jamal’s crazed eyes, the unbearable pain of acid burning his skin.
10 years had passed, but the memories had not faded.
The rest of the shift passed in a fog.
Malik mechanically performed his duties, but his thoughts were far away.
What if Mad Dog saw him? Would he recognize him? And then what? His entire world, built over the years, could collapse in an instant.
When his shift ended, Malik decided to change his usual route home.
Instead of walking past Shania’s house, he chose a longer route through narrow alleys and courtyards.
He didn’t want to risk running into Jamal in the neighborhood where she lived.
When he got home, Malik’s first move was to check the hiding place under the floorboards where he kept his gun.
The weapon, bought on the black market many years ago, had never been used, but it gave him a sense of security.
He took out the gun, checked the bullets, and put it back, just in case.
The morning greeted Malik with the usual pain in his arm and face.
He had slept only 3 hours.
Thoughts of Besham had kept him awake.
After a meager breakfast of coffee and toast, he set off on his usual walk.
Every day off, Malik left the house around noon and spent several hours visiting places where Shania might be.
He didn’t follow her, just kept an eye on her.
He went to the store where she usually bought groceries and sat in the same park where she sometimes came with a book.
He saw her having lunch at a cafe with her friends or walking down the street with shopping bags.
Today was Saturday, Shania’s day off.
On days like this, she usually either went to visit her mother and sister in Harlem or spent time at home or in Riverside Park, a few blocks from her apartment.
Malik headed for the park.
It was a sunny day and he was sure Shania wouldn’t stay home.
He was right.
He spotted her sitting on a bench with a book in her hands.
She was wearing a light spring dress, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail.
Malik took up a position at a distance on another bench, partially hidden by bushes.
He took a worn copy of Walt Whitman’s poetry out of his pocket, another habit he had kept since they had been together.
Time passed and Malik became more and more absorbed in the book, occasionally glancing in Shania’s direction.
Suddenly, a noise caught his attention, a loud argument between two men near the park entrance.
One of them, tall and thin, was waving his arms and shouting something.
Malik thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar.
Malik tensed, trying to make out the faces of the men arguing.
When the tall man turned toward him, his blood ran cold.
It was Jamal Mad Dog Crooks.
He was older with gray streaks in his hair, but it was definitely him.
Malik instinctively pulled his hood down lower, covering his face.
Shinaya seemed oblivious to the argument, immersed in her book.
Malik prayed that Mad Dog wouldn’t notice him or her.
Fortunately, the argument ended quickly and Jamal walked away, cursing loudly.
This incident disrupted the usual order of things.
Malik could no longer sit quietly in the park, fearing another encounter.
He gathered his things and returned home, wondering what to do next.
Mad Dog’s appearance in the neighborhood was a threat, not only to his secret, but also to Shinaya.
In the evening, before leaving for work, Malik decided to walk past Shinaya’s house to make sure she was all right.
What he saw made his heart sink.
Jamal Crooks was standing leaning against a lamp post across from her building, smoking.
He was just standing there, staring at the windows.
Malik stepped back into the shadows.
The madman couldn’t have known who Shinaya was or what connection she had to the supposedly deceased Dexter Washington.
But the mere fact that he was near his ex-wife’s house was cause for alarm.
Malik was late for work that evening, having decided to follow Jamal.
After standing outside Shinaya’s house for an hour, the madman finally left, heading toward a local bar.
Only after making sure he wasn’t coming back, did Malik hurry to the warehouse.
“You’re late”.
Rufus said when Malik entered the security room.
“Did something happen?” “Nothing”.
Malik lied.
“I’m just not feeling well”.
Rufus gave him a careful look, but said nothing.
Over the years they had worked together, he had learned to respect Malik’s secrecy.
The night shift passed in tense anticipation.
Malik couldn’t stop thinking about Jamal standing outside Shanaya’s house.
What did he want? Had he noticed Malik in the park? Had he recognized him despite the scars and disfigured face? In the days that followed, Malik focused all his attention on Jamal.
He changed his routine, trying to always be nearby when the madman appeared in the neighborhood.
It was risky behavior, but his fear for Shanaya outweighed his caution.
Malik discovered that Jamal often frequented the Blue Moon bar a couple of blocks from Shanaya’s house.
Several times, the madman stood in front of her building again, as if waiting for someone or something.
Once, Malik even noticed Jamal following Shanaya from the bus stop to her house, keeping his distance.
It all looked like the beginning of a hunt.
Dark thoughts swirled in Malik’s head.
What if Jamal had somehow found out that Dexter Washington was alive? What if he was looking for a way to get to him through Shanaya? Every night after work, Malik stopped by Shana’s house to make sure everything was okay.
He started leaving notes for the concierge, anonymous warnings about a suspicious man hanging around the building.
The concierge, an elderly West Indian man named Morris, took his job seriously and stepped up his vigilance.
One morning, as Malik was returning home after his shift, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
Jamal was talking to Shanaya at the entrance to her building.
She looked tense, but not frightened.
Jamal smiled wildly, showing his gold tooth.
What were they talking about? Malik couldn’t hear from that distance, but the conversation was short.
Shanaya quickly ended it and went inside the building.
That night Malik couldn’t sleep.
He thought about Shanaya, about how vulnerable she was to a man capable of such cruelty.
The thought that Mad Dog could hurt her was unbearable.
At dawn, Malik made a decision.
He would no longer just stand by and watch.
If Jamal was a threat to Shanaya, he had to do something.
But how? He couldn’t just walk up to her and warn her.
That would mean revealing his identity and his 10 years of betrayal.
With each passing day, Malik noticed that Jamal was becoming more insistent.
Now he regularly showed up at Shanaya’s house, sometimes even trying to talk to her.
Shanaya always responded with a polite refusal and hurried away, but Mad Dog didn’t give up.
One evening, Malik, watching from his hiding place, saw Jamal grab Shanaya’s arm as she tried to enter the building.
Shanaya broke free and hurried inside, but that was enough.
Malik realized that the situation was escalating.
That night at work, he took out a worn notebook and began to write an anonymous letter to the police about a suspicious man who was stalking a nurse from St.
Luke’s Clinic.
He described Jamal, his behavior, and mentioned his criminal record.
In the morning, before going to bed, Malik dropped the letter in the mailbox at the police station.
A week passed, but nothing changed.
Jamal continued his hunt, and the police took no action.
Malik started carrying a gun with him for the first time in years.
He knew it could lead to disaster, but his fear for Shanaya’s safety outweighed everything else.
On Friday evening, when Shanaya was returning home after a late shift, Malik followed her at a safe distance, as usual.
Suddenly, he noticed a familiar figure walking behind her from the bus stop.
Jamal Crooks, clearly drunk, staggering, but keeping his eyes on Shanaya.
Malik quickened his pace, closing the distance.
Shanaya turned into Riverside Park, a shortcut home through a small alley.
Jamal followed her, picking up speed.
Malik felt his heart race.
He knew something irreparable was about to happen.
Shanaya hurried home through Riverside Park.
Her evening shift had been delayed by a car accident.
And now she was walking down the dimly lit alley, clutching her bag tightly against her shoulder.
She usually avoided the park after dark, but today fatigue had gotten the better of her.
She wanted to get home quickly, take a hot shower, and fall into bed.
The silence of the park was broken only by the sound of her footsteps and the distant noise of passing cars.
Suddenly, she heard heavy, uneven footsteps behind her.
Shanaya quickened her pace, looking back anxiously.
In the dim light of the street lamps, she saw a tall figure following her.
Something about this man made her uneasy.
Perhaps his unsteady gait or the way he was moving purposefully toward her.
“Hey, beautiful!” A hoarse male voice called out to her.
“Wait!” Shanaya didn’t stop, only quickened her pace.
Her heart was pounding wildly.
She heard quick footsteps behind her.
The stranger had clearly decided to catch up with her.
“I said stop!” Suddenly, he was right behind her and grabbed her shoulder, turning her sharply toward him.
In the light of the nearest street lamp, Shanaya saw the face of Jamal, the same man who had been harassing her near her home for several weeks.
He reeked of alcohol.
His eyes were cloudy and veins stood out on his neck.
“Let me go,” Shanaya said firmly, trying to break free.
“I’ll call the police”.
“The police?” Jamal laughed, pulling a folding knife from his pocket.
“Why do we need the police? We can just get to know each other better”.
The blade of the knife glinted in the dim light of the street lamp.
Shanaya felt fear paralyze her movements.
“I don’t have any money,” she said, hoping this was just a robbery and not something worse.
“Who needs your money?” Jamal moved closer, waving the knife in front of her face.
I want love and affection, beautiful.
I’ve been watching you for a long time.
So proud, so unapproachable.
Shania feverishly assessed the situation.
The park was almost empty.
Screaming was pointless.
No one would hear her.
Try to run away? But he was faster and stronger and he had a knife.
“Please,” she said, trying to stall for time.
“Let’s talk.
What do you want?” “What do I want?” Jamal ran his free hand down her cheek and Shania struggled to suppress a shudder of revulsion.
“I told you, a little love.
Let’s go over there”.
He nodded toward a dark area of the park behind the trees.
Shania knew that if he took her there, she would have no chance of getting out alive and unharmed.
She decided to resist.
Better to be wounded here, where she could be found, than to disappear without a trace.
“No,” she said firmly, trying to break free.
“You don’t understand”.
Jamal pressed the knife against her throat.
“This isn’t a request”.
At that moment, a dark figure flew out of the darkness at incredible speed and crashed into Jamal, knocking him to his feet.
Shania jumped back, clutching her throat where the knife had left a slight scratch.
In the dim light of the street lamps, a fierce struggle ensued.
The attacker was wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled tight, his face hidden in shadow.
Despite his obvious disability, his right arm hung limply at his side, he moved with incredible agility.
Jamal, despite his intoxication, was a dangerous opponent, strong and vicious.
“Who the hell are you?” Jamal growled, swinging his knife.
The stranger did not answer, dodging the blow and delivering a powerful left hook to Jamal’s jaw.
Jamal staggered but remained on his feet.
“Get out of here”.
the stranger finally said in a low, distorted voice.
“Leave her alone”.
“Or else what?” Jamal attacked again, this time with more purpose.
The knife blade slashed across the stranger’s arm, cutting through the fabric of his sweatshirt.
Shanaya saw the black material instantly darken with blood, but the mysterious defender didn’t seem to notice the wound.
Shanaya watched the fight, frozen in horror.
She should have run, called for help, but her legs felt like they were glued to the ground.
The fight grew more and more intense.
Jamal, intoxicated not only by alcohol, but also by rage, struck blow after blow.
The stranger dodged, using his incredible agility, but it was difficult to fight with one hand against an armed opponent.
At one point, Jamal lunged forward, aiming the knife at his opponent’s stomach.
The stranger grabbed his arm, and they grappled for a moment before collapsing to the ground.
Shanaya heard a muffled cry of pain, but in the semi-darkness, she couldn’t tell which of them was injured.
When they got back up, Shanaya saw that the knife was now in the stranger’s hand.
Jamal seemed to realize that the situation had changed in his favor and tried to run away.
The stranger caught up with him in a few jumps.
What happened next happened so fast that Shanaya barely had time to realize it.
The stranger delivered a single precise stab with the knife.
Jamal gasped, grabbed his neck, and collapsed to his knees.
Blood spurted between his fingers, his eyes wide with shock.
“You”.
Jamal croaked, staring at his killer as if trying to say something or find out something, but the words stuck in his throat along with the blood.
A few seconds later, he fell onto his side, convulsed, and fell silent.
The stranger stood over him, clutching the bloody knife in his hand, his chest heaving heavily.
Shanaya finally found the ability to move.
She slowly approached her savior who was still standing staring at Jamal’s body.
You you saved my life.
She said in a trembling voice.
The stranger turned sharply toward her.
In the shadow of his hood she couldn’t see his face only the gleam of his eyes.
Go.
He said in the same strangely distorted voice.
Call the police and go.
Forget you ever saw me.
But you’re hurt.
Shinaya pointed to his arm where his sweatshirt was soaked with blood.
It’s nothing.
Go.
Instead of obeying Shinaya took out her phone and dialed 911.
The strange defender rushed away disappearing into the darkness of the park.
Shinaya was left alone with Jamal’s body explaining to the emergency dispatcher what had happened.
The police arrived 10 minutes later.
Two patrol cars with flashing lights.
Shinaya had already pulled herself together by then.
As a nurse she was used to acting calmly in extreme situations.
She confirmed Jamal’s death by checking his pulse a professional reflex.
The officers quickly cordoned off the scene and began asking questions.
Shinaya told them about Jamal’s attack and the mysterious stranger who had intervened and saved her.
Can you describe this man? One of the police officers asked.
Shinaya shook her head.
He was wearing a black hoodie.
I didn’t see his face but his right arm was immobile.
He fought with his left hand only.
The police officers exchanged glances.
We’ll send patrols to comb the area said the senior officer.
A man with such a distinctive feature won’t get far.
A forensic team arrived at the scene.
Shinaya was taken to a patrol car so she could give a full statement.
She felt strangely numb as if everything had happened to someone else.
Less than half an hour later, the radio announced that the suspect had been apprehended.
A patrol had intercepted a man with an injured right arm as he was leaving the park.
Miss Washington, you’ll have to come with us to the station, said the police officer.
We need you to identify the suspect at the At the police station, Shinaya was taken to a witness room.
She waited for almost an hour while a nurse from the emergency room treated the scratch on her neck.
Then a tall, gray-haired man in plain clothes with tired eyes and a detective badge appeared.
Mrs. Washington, I’m Captain Booba Freeman, he introduced himself.
Thank you for your patience.
We need you to identify the man we arrested.
I didn’t see his face, Shinaya reminded him.
I understand, Freeman nodded, but you may recognize him by other characteristics.
His voice, his build, his mannerisms.
Shinaya was led into another room with a one-way mirror.
Behind the glass sat a man in handcuffs wearing the same black hoodie but without the hood.
He sat sideways to the glass, his head bowed so that his face was still not visible.
His right arm hung limply.
Yes, it’s him, Shinaya said.
Same clothes, same motionless arm.
Good, Freeman made a note in his notebook.
Now we need to conduct a formal identification procedure.
You must be present when we remove his disguise for the official record.
Shinaya nodded, though her heart was gripped by an inexplicable anxiety.
There was something about this man, something strangely familiar.
She was led into an interrogation room.
The detainee sat at a table still not raising his head.
Two officers and Freeman stood nearby.
Sir, Freeman began, by law we must establish your identity.
Officer Johnson will remove your dark glasses and mask.
The detainee did not respond or move.
The officer approached and carefully removed his dark glasses.
Then he reached for the mask covering the lower part of his face.
Shanaya held her breath.
When the mask was removed, a heavy silence hung in the room.
The detainee’s face was a nightmarish sight.
Deep scars furrowed the skin leaving gouges and deformities.
The right side of the face was worse.
The eye socket was sunken.
The cheekbone was crooked.
And most of the ear was missing.
It looked as if the face had been melted and then attempted to be remolded by unskilled hands.
Shanaya heard one of the officers whistle softly in shock.
But her attention was not focused on the scars.
Something about the features of this disfigured face seemed vaguely familiar.
The shape of the eyes.
The line of the chin.
“What’s your name?” Freeman asked quickly recovering from his initial shock.
“Malik Johnson”.
The detainee replied.
And a chill ran down Shanaya’s spine.
That voice.
She knew that voice despite the hoarseness and strange intonation.
Shanaya took a step forward staring intently at the stranger’s face.
Then her gaze fell on his neck where a small oddly shaped mole was visible under his collar.
Exactly like “Dex?” She whispered unable to believe her eyes.
“Dexter?” A dead silence hung in the room.
The detainee slowly raised his gaze looking directly at Shanaya for the first time.
His eyes reflected pain, fear, and something else.
Relief? “Hi Ni”.
He said quietly.
Shanaya felt the ground slip away beneath her feet.
She grabbed the edge of the table to keep from falling.
“This is impossible”.
She whispered.
“You’re dead 10 years ago in a prison hospital”.
“I’m so sorry”.
Dex said his twisted lips trembling.
Captain Freeman looked from one to the other.
Do you know this man, Mrs. Washington? He’s He’s my husband, she replied, still unable to believe what was happening.
Dexter Washington, he was supposed to have died 10 years ago.
Interesting, Freeman said.
Leave us, he ordered the officers.
When they left, he sat down across from Dex.
Explain.
And Dex began to speak.
His story flowed slowly like a heavy river, about the attack in prison, how his face and hand had been burned with chemicals, his painful recovery, and his decision to fake his death with the help of prison warden Holloway.
I couldn’t go back like that, he said, not looking at Shinaya, who was listening, frozen against the wall.
I couldn’t be a burden.
I didn’t want Ni to spend her life caring for a [ __ ] So, you made me believe you were dead? Shinaya’s voice trembled with suppressed emotion.
You let me mourn you for 10 years? I thought it would be better for you, Dex replied, finally looking up.
I thought without me you’d have a chance at a normal life.
And you lived nearby all this time? Shinaya asked, beginning to understand the magnitude of the deception.
Dex nodded.
Two blocks away, I kept an eye on you.
Kept an eye on me? She repeated, her voice tinged with anger.
You spied on me for 10 years? I wanted to make sure you were okay, he replied quietly.
Captain Freeman cleared his throat.
That’s a very touching story, Mr. Washington, but we still have a dead body in the park.
Do you admit to killing Jamal Crooks? Yes, Dex replied simply.
He attacked my wife with a knife.
I was defending her.
Your ex-wife, Freeman corrected.
Legally, you’re dead, remember? Dex lowered his head.
Yes, ex.
Freeman tapped his pen thoughtfully on his notepad.
It’s self-defense, but your special status complicates matters.
Faking your own death, living under a false name, you understand that these are serious crimes? I understand.
Dex nodded.
Freeman glanced at Shanaya who stood pale, her eyes filled with tears.
Mrs. Washington, I need to discuss something with my superiors.
Could you wait outside? Shanaya nodded and left the room on wobbly legs.
In the hallway, she sank down onto a bench and buried her face in her hands.
Dex was alive.
All these years he had been alive and nearby.
All these years of mourning, loneliness, trying to start a new life.
Half an hour later, the door to the interrogation room opened and Captain Freeman emerged.
He looked tired but determined.
Mrs. Washington, he said sitting down next to her.
I’ve made a decision.
What is it? She asked, looking at him with eyes red from crying.
I didn’t see anything.
You didn’t see Another dead man, a drunken brawl, one man killed, the other fled.
Jamal Crooks was a known repeat offender with a dozen enemies.
This happens in our neighborhood every week.
You You’re letting him go? Shanaya asked incredulously.
I’m letting you both go.
Freeman said standing up.
Life has punished your husband enough.
Now go and deal with your problems at home, not at the police station.
Shanaya didn’t know what to say.
She just nodded, feeling grateful to this tired man with sad eyes.
He’s waiting for you.
Freeman added, pointing to the door of the interrogation room.
Shanaya slowly got up and headed for the door.
Inside, Dex was sitting alone without handcuffs.
When he saw her, he tried to stand up, but she stopped him with a gesture.
Captain Freeman said he’s letting us go, she said, not knowing where to start.
Yes.
Dex nodded.
“He’s a good man”.
They stared at each other across the room, two people who had once been one, now separated by 10 years of lies.
“Why Dex?” Shanaya finally asked.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” “You saw my face”.
He smiled bitterly.
“I didn’t want you to waste your life on a monster like me”.
“That’s my decision”.
She said firmly, taking a step toward him.
“Not yours”.
“I know”.
He lowered his head.
“Now I know”.
“It was a mistake”.
Shanaya slowly approached and sat down across from him.
For the first time in 10 years, she could see his disfigured face clearly.
Yes, the scars were terrible.
Yes, there was little left of the Dex she had once known, but the eyes, the eyes were the same.
“10 years”.
She whispered.
“10 years I lived thinking you were dead.
And all this time you were here, watching me like like a ghost”.
“It was selfish”.
He admitted.
“I couldn’t let you go completely.
I couldn’t stop worrying.
That’s why I stayed”.
“And today you killed a man to protect me”.
Shanaya shook her head.
“The same man who disfigured you”.
“I recognized him as soon as I saw him in the neighborhood a few weeks ago”.
Dex said.
“I was afraid he might hurt you.
But I didn’t think it would end like this”.
They fell silent.
All that could be heard in the silence was their breathing and the muffled voices of the police behind the wall.
“What now?” Shanaya finally asked.
“I don’t know”.
Dex replied honestly.
“I never thought you’d find out the truth.
That you’d be sitting here across from me like this”.
Shanaya looked at his disfigured face.
His lifeless right arm, the scars on his neck.
Then she looked into his eyes, the same brown eyes she she once fallen in love with.
So much pain, so many lost years.
“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for lying to me,” she said quietly.
“But I’m grateful that you saved my life today”.
Dex nodded, accepting her words.
“I understand.
I don’t expect forgiveness”.
Shinaya stood up.
“Let’s go.
We need to get out of here before Captain Freeman changes his mind”.
They stopped at the exit of the police station.
Dawn was just beginning to paint the horizon with a pale pink light.
A new day, a day that changed everything.
“Where are you going now?” Shinaya asked.
Dex shrugged.
“I don’t know.
Maybe I’ll leave town, start over somewhere else”.
Shinaya stared at him for a long time, at the man she had mourned, prayed for, and still carried in her heart despite the years.
“Are you hungry?” she asked unexpectedly.
Dex looked at her in surprise.
“What?” “I asked if you’re hungry,” she repeated.
“I have coffee and croissants at my place.
We could talk”.
A spark of hope flashed in his eyes, so fragile that Shinaya was almost frightened by its power.
“I’d like that,” he replied quietly.
They walked together through the waking streets of the city, a woman and her dead husband risen from the dead.
Between them lay a chasm of 10 years of lies and suffering.
But in the morning light, everything seemed possible, even a new beginning.
