<.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.
