Mirror, Mirror on the Wall ✓

E P I L O G U E | Three Months Later

Epilogue: Three Months Later

Sanchez was walking down the corridor of the police station. He entered Chief Griffith's office.

'Sir.'

Griffith looked up. 'Lee. So, you leave today?'

'Yes. Thank you, sir, for everything you've done till now. I won't forget it.'

'Oh, you don't need to thank me. Do your best. Now go on. I don't want you to say later that you missed your train because of me. Good luck.'

Both smiled and shook hands. Sanchez exited the cabin.

Next, he went to meet Clark and the others.

Conway exclaimed, 'Sanchez!' 

There were handshakes and greetings were exchanged. Sanchez was feeling sad leaving them. If he was accepted at the interview he may never return. But the opposite could also happen. He swore to himself that he would never forget these men.

They all had a long chat; a final word. The time passed quickly. Someone reminded him that he had a train to catch and Sanchez was forced to leave. There was a big group hug and after a final goodbye, he left. Clark was coming too, he had offered him to drop him at the railway station.

First, he went to the apartment he called home to pick up his stuff while Clark waited in his car. There weren't many things to carry. All the required items got packed into one suitcase. Giving a last look, Sanchez locked the room and departed. 

The local railway station was but a twenty-minute drive from his home. As Clark drove on, he felt a pang of pain on his side. The bullet wound still hurt occasionally, although temporarily. It soon went away.

They had driven for just five minutes when Sanchez told Clark to stop. 'I have something to do. I'll be back soon.' Clark had seemed confused: they had stopped at the graveyard.

Sanchez walked in and searched among the headstones until he found the name he was looking for. Leon Dillard. 

He moved closer to his former Chief's grave and kneeled down. He felt the insides of his coat pocket and took out a single dark pink rose. He laid it on the grave and felt emotions churning inside him. He wiped off a single stray tear that had managed to find its way out and took something out of his pocket: the ring. The ring which he had given to Kim—Victoria—and she had returned it. He dug a small hole in front of the grave with his hands, buried the ring inside and covered it with the dug soil. Doing this, he felt an incredible sense of closure—the feeling that the past was gone and could now be forgotten. 'Sorry, and thank you,' he murmured and stayed like that for some time. Then he got up and walked out of the graveyard.

'What happened? You don't look . . . well,' Clark said when Sanchez climbed into the car. 'Nothing. Was just paying my last respects to the old Chief.'

'So I figured. I understand.'

They drove on in silence until they reached the station. 

The train had arrived. Clark and Sanchez had a little man hug and Clark said, 'Give it your best shot. All the best.' 

'I will. Good-bye.'

Sanchez climbed the train just in time as it started to move. He saw Clark standing with his hands in his pockets, signifying everything he was leaving behind, as the train picked up the pace. And he was zooming in on his future at full speed as the train lurched into a new world brimming with possibilities. He had moved on.

~

Moving on: a phrase with many diverse meanings. We often hold onto the past and let it ruin the present and the future. But the past, whether good or bad, is gone. Neither can you go back in time to relive or correct your past, nor can you bring the past into the present. Everything has its own beauty; the past is beautiful too: untouchable, and oftentimes, unbearable.

So we're told to move on. Clinging to false hopes—that the deceased will come back or your fault will somehow get corrected—will only land us in more misery. You can learn from the past, they say, but the past never learns its lessons. It continues to haunt us.

Let your past teach you not to do those mistakes again. Let your present be, well, your present. Let go, and move on.