50
Kingsley awoke before dawn, long before the faint glow of morning began to seep through the slatted cabin window. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the soft shadows of early light. For a moment, he simply lay there in stillness, the silence of the retreat settling around him like a second blanket. But it wasn’t sleepiness that held him in bed—it was something else.
Katherine.
She’d laid her head on his shoulder.
His fingers, still resting faintly over the spot on the sheet where his hand had curled around hers last night, flexed slightly as if to remember the shape of her. The sensation had stayed with him—her warmth, trust, and silence that spoke volumes. She hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t pulled away. If anything, she’d leaned in. That single hour had stretched into something much more than time. It had been permission. It had been forgiveness—unspoken but felt.
He closed his eyes again, breathing in slowly, letting himself replay it.
He exhaled now in the morning stillness, a slow smile touching the corner of his mouth. His heart felt steadier than it had in years.
They were progressing. Whatever this was now—whatever this would become—it was moving forward.
The campgrounds were quiet, touched with a soft mist that curled over the treetops and clung to the edges of the path like a whisper. Kingsley walked slowly, hands in his pockets, the morning dew cool against his boots. The air smelled like damp pine, crushed lavender, and something faintly sweet drifting from the retreat kitchen—maybe steeped herbs or fruit being chopped for breakfast. But he wasn’t thinking about food.
He was still thinking about Katherine.
As he reached the main wellness hall, a low, open space with wide windows and a cedarwood floor, he could already hear the faint hum of bowls being tuned, soft gongs rising and falling like a tide. Meditation mats and bolsters were laid out in a crescent, with blankets folded neatly beside each one. At the front of the room, a facilitator—a woman dressed in pale gray linen—greeted each camper quietly with a nod.
Kingsley removed his shoes and stepped onto the warm floor, scanning for Katherine. His heart gave a small jump when he saw her—already seated cross-legged on one of the cushions near the middle. Her back was straight, eyes closed, her hands resting gently on her knees in a loose mudra. Her hair was braided today, draped over one shoulder. Calm. Collected.
She hadn’t seen him.
But somehow that made it feel more real—that she was here for herself, for her healing, and he was simply lucky enough to be nearby.
He found a spot just a few mats away. Not too close. Not too far.
As the group settled, the facilitator began the session with a series of deep, cleansing breaths, guiding participants to inhale peace and exhale tension. The sounds of nature—chirping birds, rustling leaves, and the distant babble of a brook—provided a natural soundtrack to the meditation.
Gradually, the facilitator introduced the resonant tones of crystal singing bowls, each note vibrating through the air and into the hearts of the listeners. The sound bath enveloped the group, its harmonious frequencies promoting relaxation and inner balance.
Katherine sat with her eyes closed, her hands resting gently on her knees. The soothing sounds and tranquil environment allowed her to release lingering tensions and connect with a sense of inner peace. She felt a gentle warmth in her chest, a quiet acknowledgment of the healing journey she was undertaking.
Across, Kingsley let the sounds wash over him, his mind began to release its grip on everything except that one moment from the night before.
The weight of Katherine’s head on his shoulder.
The permission in her stillness.
He inhaled deeply, letting the vibration move through his chest.
He thought about how far he’d come to be here. The lies he’d told to get into this retreat. The fortune he’d been willing to lose. The secrets. The regrets. The nights staring at a photograph he couldn’t throw away.
He thought about how much he had once feared becoming a disappointment to his father.
But now?
Now, he didn’t care.
All of it—every crown, every title, every bloody cent—could burn to ash if it meant one more hour like last night. One more breath was shared in silence. One more look from Katherine that didn’t hold anger. Just… calm.
He let the sound carry him.
As the session drew to a close, the facilitator gently guided the group back to the present moment, encouraging them to carry a sense of calm and clarity into the rest of their day. The campers opened their eyes, exchanging serene smiles and nods of appreciation.
The morning meditation and sound bath had set a tone of mindfulness and openness, preparing everyone for the wellness activities that lay ahead.
The soft, sonorous bells of the sound bath had long faded, but their imprint lingered in Kingsley’s body like the memory of being touched without hands. When the facilitator finally invited the group to rise, no one moved right away. The room felt suspended in honey—slow, thick with presence.
Katherine stood first.
Kingsley watched her from the corner of his eye. She didn’t look at him, not directly. But as she rolled her shoulders back, gathering her blanket into her arms, her gaze passed lightly over him—just a flicker. And in that flicker, something warm. Something human. No resistance. Just acknowledgment.
He didn’t need more.
Outside, the sun had begun to pour through the trees, clearing the mist and lighting the stones on the path like tiny fireflies. Birds called from the branches overhead, and in the distance, Kingsley could hear the low murmur of people talking about which midday session to attend: massage or Reiki.
He’d never done either.
Massage sounded familiar—physical. Something people in suits did when their shoulders locked up from board meetings. But Reiki? The energy work? That felt… closer to what he was chasing.
He signed up for the Reiki session.
The room they were led to was smaller, tucked in a grove behind the bathhouse, filled with the smell of sandalwood and bergamot. Soft flute music played from an old speaker in the corner, barely loud enough to notice unless you were listening. Practitioners in white greeted them gently, with no chatter, just hand gestures, and bowed heads. There were five low beds arranged in a semicircle, each draped in white linen, and Kingsley was directed to the one closest to the window.
He lay down on his back, his arms resting by his sides, and tried to let go of the tension he hadn’t realized he still held.
A woman—maybe mid-fifties, with gentle eyes and long silver braids—came to his side.
“My name is Luma,” she whispered. “All you have to do is breathe.”
He nodded once.
The session began.
Luma didn’t touch him. Not directly. Her hands hovered over him, above his chest, his shoulders, his forehead. But Kingsley could swear he felt the heat. Movement. Like waves of energy rearranging themselves in his body. He kept his eyes closed, but his mind wasn’t quiet. Not now.
He saw Katherine again, her head on his shoulder the night before. The slight shift in her body when she relaxed against him. He remembered the exact weight of her hand in his, resting lightly, without tension. She hadn’t pulled away.
He thought of how she’d looked at him during the Shield Collage when he cried. She hadn’t looked away then either.
And now?
Was it possible?
Could he really… rebuild?
Luma’s hands paused over his heart.
Kingsley inhaled slowly, shakily. He realized something in that moment not just about Katherine, but about himself. That he had spent years trying to earn a love that was performative, that looked good on paper. Love that his parents approved of. Love that could be displayed at galas and fundraisers. He had mistaken proximity for intimacy. Appearance for connection.
But with Katherine…
She had never asked him to be anyone else. And now, even after everything, even after betrayal and silence and distance. she had laid her head on his shoulder again.
That was grace.
That was hope.
Luma’s hands moved to his solar plexus.
“You’re carrying grief,” she whispered, though he hadn’t said a word. “But under it there’s devotion.”
Kingsley’s eyes welled, but he didn’t open them. He just breathed. And let the truth of it settle in his chest.
He was still in love.
Not with the idea of redemption.
But with the woman herself.