Page 71 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
It wasn't glamorous.
I scrubbed pans until my knuckles bled, swept fish scales from corners, peeled garlic until the scent clung to my fingers for days.
But I earned enough to afford a single-room apartment on the edge of town, just a short walk from the docks.
It had a cracked tile floor and a bathroom the size of a closet, but it was mine.
No one else had a key.
No one knew where I slept at night.
I wore my new name like a second skin.
Slipped into it every morning like a fresh shirt.
I spoke little, smiled less, and worked until my muscles screamed for mercy.
The chef, a stocky man named Manolo with arms like hams and a surprisingly gentle manner, began to trust me with more than dishes.
First prep work. Then sauces. Then the pasta, which he said I had a strange feel for.
I told him my grandmother had taught me.
That part was true, even if the rest was not.
At night, I walked along the sea.
I let the waves fill in the silence where my past used to live.
Sometimes I cried, but never where anyone could see.
That version of me—the one who broke down—was a luxury I no longer had.
Five months in, I'd saved enough to replace my clothes, change my phone, and stash a second set of documents in case I ever needed to disappear again.
The apartment was still small, but I'd added a bookshelf.
A kettle.
A plant that didn't survive, but made the windowsill feel like a home while it did.
I had friends, if you could call them that. Marie shared espresso and gossip when the kitchen was quiet. Paola offered me leftover bread and asked me to walk her dog when her hip ached.
A girl named Sofia, who worked the front counter, started inviting me to Sunday dinners with her aunt. I was reluctant at first, but the more I went, the easier it became.
And over time, the invitations stopped feeling like tests.
I did not tell them who I was. I did not let myself be known, but I did allow myself little slivers of a normal life.
It was important to be careful, for my sake and for the sake of the baby growing in my belly.
Until the night the fever came, catching me after a double shift.
I'd come home soaked in rain and fish grease, dizzy from the heat of the stove and the ache in my legs.
I remember sitting down to take off my boots and waking up hours later on the bathroom floor, shivering so hard my teeth ached.
The next day, Sofia came knocking. When I didn't answer, she used the spare key I hadn't meant to give her.
