Chapter 8

We were at a Cantonese restaurant, the kind with dim lighting and the smell of soy sauce in the air. Sean Parker had ordered shrimp dumplings and pork siu mai—just like old times, when he remembered exactly what I liked.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke, his voice tight with pain. "Why did you hide everything from me?"

I knew that question was coming, sooner or later.

I gave a hollow smile, shrugging slightly. "What did you want me to say? That I was a murderer? That you should wait for me to get out? Or that you should visit me in a prison jumpsuit?"

Sean shook his head, his eyes full of anguish. His fists were clenched so hard, I thought his knuckles might crack.

"How do you know what I was thinking? Even if you made a mistake, I could've waited. We could've kept in touch, written letters. Why didn't you let me be there for you?"

I looked at him, my gaze cold. "What would we have written? You'd tell me about your day, your work, your life... but what would I say? Should I have written about how I spent my days sewing sweaters in prison?"

The words hit harder than I meant them to, and Sean froze, his eyes dropping to my hands. I knew what he saw—scars from years of manual labor.

His face went pale, and I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. It was the first time in all the years I'd known him that I saw him on the verge of crying.

I immediately regretted the harshness in my voice. Those words, meant to protect myself, had just ripped open old wounds—both his and mine.

I sighed, the air heavy with the weight of it all. "It's in the past, Sean. Let's not do this."

He rubbed his eyes, still shaking his head, his voice breaking. "I get it now. Even if you had your reasons back then, what about after you got out? Why didn't you reach out? Why tell Claire, but not me?"

He stared at the table, his shoulders slumping. "And why did Claire get you that maid job? It wasn't even close to what you deserved."

I cut him off, more firmly this time. "Enough, Sean."

I paused, gathering my thoughts, then softened a little. "Actually, I was happy those few days as a maid. At least there, people called me by my name every day—not by a number. I didn't have to squat in a corner because I forgot to respond to roll call."

Sean's shoulders shook slightly. He still wouldn't look up. I couldn't see his face, but I could hear the soft sound of tears hitting the table.

"Thea... I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice raw.

Slowly, he lifted his head, covering his face with both hands. "I was impulsive. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I didn't understand... I hurt you. I'm sorry."

I shook my head, giving him a soft smile. "It's fine. Really. It doesn't matter anymore."

After dinner, Sean seemed to summon a little courage. He pulled out his phone and handed it to me, looking embarrassed.

I glanced at him, confused. "What's this?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "Well, I've been meaning to reach out. But before I had time, I was always tied up with work. So whenever I had a free moment, I'd write down what I wanted to say to you in my notes app. I checked yesterday—there's like a third of my phone's storage just filled with stuff I never sent."

He looked at me with those hopeful eyes, waiting for me to say something.

I stared at the phone in my hands for a long moment, then hit the power button, turning the screen off. I handed it back to him with a gentle smile.

"That's your private stuff, Sean. I won't look."