Chapter 463: Regrets Change Nothing
<.A week later.>
The old bus rattled along a wide dirt road, its worn tires stirring clouds of red dust. Mr. Eastwood sat near the back with a cloth duffel bag against his knees. He threw his gaze out of the window.
The endless stretch of greenery rolled by. He saw untamed forests beyond the scattered houses with tin roofs. The children ran barefoot across the fields, sweating under the sun.
It was a world away from the comfort and privilege he was born into, but it was a world he had already become accustomed to.
’This... Is this even a punishment?’
He had expected prison, or perhaps public shame. He had expected anything but this quiet exile that felt unbearable yet merciful at home.
Before his departure, he was only told the basics.
He would be teaching at a small school supported by a foundation tied to the Delaney family. A modest home was already prepared for him. At the same time, he would receive some fees.
He was free to teach, to live and to reflect.
Somehow, the word ’free’ felt strange amid the consequences of what he had done.
He thought of her, Lariette.
Mr. Eastwood never met Lariette again. Declan was the one who handled the arrangements. The young man’s bodyguards made sure he arrived at the airport and then at the rural town safely.
Even though they were colleagues for only six months, Mr. Eastwood knew Lariette respected him. At the same time, she was also the one whose life he had twisted right after she was even born.
He could still remember her expression at the restaurant. Shock, disbelief and pain were painfully carved on her face. She had even begged him to say that everything was not true.
And now, she had chosen this way.
Instead of throwing him into prison and letting his life rot away, she made sure he would use his expertise to give new life to the ones who needed it.
In fifteen minutes, the bus finally came to a stop.
Mr. Eastwood grabbed his duffel bag before descending. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and distant rain. Winter was barely a small drop in temperature here.
A younger man in a faded shirt welcomed him by the roadside, "Mr. Eastwood?"
"Yes," he answered softly.
The man smiled, "Welcome. I’m Juan. The children have been waiting. I’ll show you your quarters later."
The school was no more than three small buildings surrounded by a white fence, painted with bright and colorful murals. Dozens of children, bright-eyed and curious, peeked out through the open windows as he approached.
Their liveliness was similar to the children he had taught in rural areas before. Their voices tangled with the chirping of birds and the howling of the wind.
Inside the classroom which Mr. Eastwood entered, the desks were quite old but of high quality. It was kept tidy. At a glance, he saw the board at the back was full of children’s drawings and achievements.
Mr. Eastwood placed his duffel bag on the floor, hidden by the teacher’s table. He smiled faintly, the first real smile he had allowed himself in a long time.
"Good morning, everyone," he greeted, "I’m your new teacher. My name is Charles Eastwood."
The children chorused, voices bright as bells, "Good morning, Teacher!"
That night, Mr. Eastwood sat alone on the porch of the small house provided for him. The air was cool, and the stars twinkled brightly as the sky was unmarred, unlike in the city.
This was the same, familiar scene he had seen before.
Back when he was still actively participating in teaching rural children during breaks, those places also had similar peaceful and untainted scenery.
Mr. Eastwood let out a low laugh, more to mock himself. Lariette’s way of ’punishing’ him was just the same as what he had in mind.
When Mr. Eastwood was in hiding because Declan’s people were digging into the past, he had thought of going abroad and spending the rest of his life teaching underprivileged children.
He simply no longer wanted to live in the kind of world he was born into.
Then, he decided to meet her. He didn’t have to, but he still came out of hiding.
At that time, Mr. Eastwood was already prepared to be dragged to court, as he thought the Elshers and the Delaneys wouldn’t let him go easily.
Then, here he was. Doing what he had actually planned.
He had once wanted revenge, blinded by bitterness and loss.
Deborah, her name still burned quietly in his memory. The woman he loved, who had loved another. And it was none other than his old friend, Jonathan Elsher.
Jonathan continuously rejected Deborah’s advances, but he toyed with her in secret. When Mr. Eastwood found out, he was consumed by hatred.
After Deborah’s death, Mr. Eastwood left the country with the hope of leaving the heartache behind. He didn’t expect to still carry the hatred when he returned almost ten years later.
The same year when he cruelly changed the fates of two girls.
He didn’t regret what he had done almost thirty years ago, because regrets changed nothing.
The days passed slowly, mostly in the same rhythm.
Morning lessons, shared lunches, and children bringing him wildflowers or small fruits from their homes. The adults in the village had also greeted him more warmly as they accepted his presence.
Mr. Eastwood had to admit that the foundation took great care of this school and the quality of education. No broken old desks, no torn books with missing pages and no holes in the walls and ceilings.
One rainy night, Mr. Eastwood sat by a small wooden table as he read through the students’ essays. The papers smelled faintly of ink and smoke.
One essay caught his attention, written by a boy named Mateo. Mr. Eastwood remembered him as one of the students with high potential.
The boy wrote, ’When I grow up, I want to be a teacher like Mr. Eastwood. Teachers make people and the world better, even when they are sad.’
Somehow, the words struck something deep within him.
Was this how the students viewed him? Was he worthy of this?
And then, guilt crept in, the feeling he had been ignoring until now. It knocked on the door of his heart little by little, until it came like a crashing force.
Mr. Eastwood exhaled. He looked out the window, staring into the distant hills. He smiled faintly to himself as his thoughts wandered to someone.
"Thank you... for sparing me."
He would carry his guilt to the end of his days, as well as the quiet sound of children learning and their laughter rising into the open sky.
And that was enough.
Enough to turn the ’punishment’ she bestowed on him into purpose.