Chapter 2
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Chapter 2When I reached my room – a spacious suite in fact – I made a beeline for my suitcase. I lifted it onto the bed, opened it, and rummaged through it until I found what I was looking for – my old passport. I looked at it, and kissed it. I then took out the “Lady Sarah” passport out of my purse, and with trembling hands, tore it into little pieces with a fury that I had rarely felt in my entire existence. That passport had been the symbol of everything I loathed in life. The lying, the hiding, the love it represented, the name I didn’t want and the implication it brought with it – all of those things that I had done to save my own skin had only been a pretense of which I wanted no longer any part. I gathered the pieces of the offensive document, dropped them in the trash bin and looked for a matchbook that I suspected I would find in the night table. “Ah. There you are,” I said when I found it lying beside a tourist magazine in the drawer. I took the trash bin from beside the bed, put it on the table and dropped a lit match into it. I then walked to the French doors and deposited the smoking bin onto the small balcony. Within a few seconds, the passport and that episode of my life was no more. I carried the bin back to the room, went to the bathroom, dumped its content in the toilet and flushed it.
When I came to sit down in front of the window, I sighed. The relief I felt was incredible.
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