First thing Monday morning, I received a call from Edward's secretary asking where she could pick up files he needed from me. We agreed to meet at a coffee shop. Martha's cafe was a small shop across Ami hospital. It was that little place that made you crave scintillating conversations with friends as the rain fell outside. A little place that made you feel like you were at home when the reality is that you weren't.

"Your lemonade." The waiter set a cold gleaming glass of juice full of ice. "Anything else?"

"No. Thank you."

The weather brought about the kind of day that made people forget to worry. At only eleven o'clock, the café was full. The women wore short sundresses, and the men wore free shirts allowing the wind to dance through. From her seat I had a view of the entrance, only a handful of people came and left.

Ten minutes in, a woman who looked awfully out of place ambled through the doors in a purple coat, a black beret, and heels. The flimsy coat hid everything she wore underneath. She winded her way through the tables towards me.

"Hello? Are you Maria?"

"Yes. You must be Edward's assistant."

"Sylvia." She offered her hand. "But everybody calls me Masyia. It's a pleasure to meet you, Maria."

"Please join me. Would you like anything?"

Masyia slipped beside me. She sat straight and scratched her scalp under the beret, a few strands of her hair slipped out. Everything about her screamed confidence and class. "No. I'm fine. Did you bring the files Mr Abuchi asked me to pick up from you?"

I handed over a manila folder with files that contained all the legal information of my father's business including his last will. "Is Edward going to look into my case?"

She caught a strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. "He's a man of his word. If he thinks there's something worth looking for, he's usually right. He's the smartest person I know."

Nausea swirled unrestrained in my empty stomach. My head swam with half-formed regrets. I drank my lemonade.

"He's asked me to be the legal liaison between you and him during this period. You have my number. Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions and I'll do the same. Do you have any questions?"

The question on Edward's wellbeing lingered at the back of my mind but I didn't dare to ask it. It seemed inappropriate. The fact that he had asked his secretary to liaise with me solidified his stance. He preferred to avoid me.

"Not at the moment."

"It was nice to meet you, but I have to run. Please feel free to call whenever you need anything. It's now in my job description to have you as my priority."

With that, as easily as she came in, she was gone. As I finished my glass of lemonade, I wondered if Edward was right about my father's lawyers. Had they taken advantage of my family's tragedy and naivety to rob me of my inheritance? Did my father secure my future before his untimely death?

After waking up from my surgery to discover their death, nothing had mattered to me. Grief carves a part of one's soul in its passing. The gaping emptiness that fills one after its left sweeps silently like wind passing through a leafless tree. Losing the money didn't seem like such a big deal.

If it was true and I had been robbed of my future, would getting the money-back compensate all the pain and suffering I had endured over the years?

***

Ken brought the last of my luggage into my new place. It was a small flat buried as far away from the city as I liked. Flat number 23. I had nothing except for my clothes, a few dishes in the cupboards, a couple random blankets and lamps, a pan and a mug arranged in the kitchen and a broken clock above an empty wall.

"Thank you for the mattress. I'd have slept on the floor if it wasn't for you."

Ken stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the wall. "Are you sure about sleeping here for the night?"

"You don't like this place?"

"I like it. It's just so empty."

"You're focusing on what I don't have instead of what I have," I said. "I've had to start over multiple times over the years. Back then, I was worse off. This house is so much better than what I've stayed in before. I have a hot shower. The neighbourhood is safer. I'll be fine."

"How can I help?"

"You've done more than enough."

Rain began as whispering in the air, getting louder and louder, heavier, and heavier, and before we knew it the sound of droplets echoed through the silence, followed by the heavy thuds of torrential rain.

"Do you mind if I smoked? I'll wait until it stops pouring before I leave."

"Go ahead."

Light flashed across the sky again followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Ken pulled out thin sticks of weed from his pocket instead of a box of cigarettes. Lighting it, he took a drag. Walking past me – to the bathroom - he shrugged out of his jacket. Some residual smoke hung in the air, shifting like ghosts in the breeze. He came back minutes later and slumped on the empty mattress next to me, watching me unpack.

"You want to try it out?"

"Sure."

The first inhale was like a breath of fresh air, which was ironic, given the nature of the vice. But there it was – a sweet escape, a brief release from the world that I had been running from for too long.

"You won't be lonely staying here?" Ken asked.

"Maybe. I'm not so sure. Ever since my parents' death, I've been alone. I always prided myself on being an outsider. But now, I feel the need to connect with someone."

Darkness slithered in. Raindrops slithered down the window following an established path as if racing against time. I liked that view and the darkness that crept; I could watch it for a long time.

"Is it okay if I come to visit when I can? We can keep each other company."

"I don't mind."

He smiled. I wanted to grab his face and kiss him but I didn't dare to follow through. I never did.

"Did you know?" I asked.

"Know what?"

"About my feelings for you."

Ken's muscles tensed. Blowing out the smoke, he stood. "I suspected. I wished that it was just my imagination. That the way you look at me is because of something entirely different."

"Why?"

He chuckled. "Take a good look at me, Maria."

"I am..."

"No!" Swiftly pulling his shirt over his head, he turned his back to me. "Look at me."

The flames from the fire he mentioned had consumed his entire back. The skin was also highly discoloured, suggesting that it did not heal properly. But it didn't matter to me.

"I don't care about them."

He scratched the back of his neck and let out a nervous chuckle. Then, with a final shake of his head, he grabbed his things from the floor. He put out his stick of weed and faced me. "You should care. The scars are worse on the inside."

"You're such a coward," I murmured.

Gritting his teeth, he walked over to the doors. "Thank you for the company, but I have to go."

"If you walk out that door we are done for good. No more games. No more pretending. I can't keep going back and forth with you."

Ken froze. He slowly turned his head towards me for a few seconds, then cast his eyes downward and pursed his lips. "Goodnight, Maria. See you at work tomorrow."