The remaining warmth in my heart completely cooled in the cold wind of a foreign country.
On the day I returned home, as soon as I exited the gate, I was surrounded by countless flashes of light and microphones.
My imprisonment abroad had become a public scandal.
After finally escaping the encirclement and returning home, Felix Shaw’s first words were reproach.
“How many times have I told you to wear a white coat outside? Why didn’t you listen?”
He frowned, his tone like he was scolding an ignorant child. “You knew I’m face-blind and couldn’t tell a woman’s face apart.”
I clenched my fists. He flipped through another page and, without even looking up, issued his second directive: “The PR department has prepared a draft; a press conference will be held tomorrow.”
“Go clarify and apologize to the public.”
Apologize?
Who am I apologizing for? For Felix Shaw’s coldness and callousness, or for his supposed “face blindness”?
I looked at his impassive face and asked softly, “Who was that girl you were hugging at the airport?”
His hands paused from flipping through the documents, a rare stiffness crossing his face.
After a few seconds, he spoke: “There were so many people there, I thought it was you.”