Chapter 4

Upon returning home from the TV station, I dug out several camera bags from the depths of my bookshelf.

They were old memories I had buried deep.

The feel of the camera's exterior had become unfamiliar, and the batteries had long since dried up.

While waiting for the charging dock to power up.

I inserted the memory card into my computer and opened those long-forgotten photos.

The first one showed a Black woman waiting on the street for cholera pills to be distributed.

The second was of a five-year-old child soldier, not even as tall as his gun.

The third depicted refugees from North Kivu Province living in tattered tents.

The scent of gunpowder and dust transcended time and space.

My heart felt as if it were gripped by sharp talons.

I leaned back in my chair, steadying my racing heartbeat, and chuckled somewhat self-mockingly.

I wondered if Lucas would see these things.

Would he still write "Well-behaved" in the notes section of my profile?

Just as I was pondering this, my phone vibrated twice.

It was a message from him.

He sent the location of a restaurant.

I suddenly remembered that he had invited the bridesmaids and groomsmen for a small gathering tonight.

I didn't have many friends or relatives, so they were all Lucas's friends.

But I knew this was just an excuse for a dinner party.

Because today.

Britta had returned to the country.