"I've followed your path long enough. It's time I followed my own."

CHAPTER ONE

Turning away from Raymond was difficult on its own merit. Factoring in the heavy footsteps of his father – his brother and dearest friend – as the room's occupants decreased from two to one, the sequence of events became all the more excruciating.

Never before had he felt such a profound sadness and despair.

A weight lifting from his shoulders was the anticipated outcome, and yet in the wake of separation Dembe encountered the precise opposite. It wasn't easier to breathe; it was harder. He didn't stand so tall; he collapsed. The silence and emptiness of his part-time living space were suffocating. Suddenly, he was a child again, helpless while watching the slaughter of his family and then dragged away to a province unknown to him at the time.

He'd done the right thing, hadn't he?

The answer to his quandary existed within the physical ramifications.

Contrary to earlier exchanges at the Temple, it wasn't so much the taking of one life after another that he could no longer stomach – plenty were taken by his own hand over the course of decades in service of a mission that didn't belong to him and yet became his reason to live. Rather it was the destruction of Raymond's soul, the one he had dedicated his life to preserving and restoring, as a consequence and the growing cost incurred through each action that he couldn't.

You don't need my forgiveness ever because, when it comes to this, you can do no wrong.

I appreciate that, Raymond. But I can't forgive you.

The inability to forgive, he realized now as he pulled into the paved driveway, was a pretext.

For so long, Dembe aspired to preempt the day in which recognition of the man he stood shoulder to shoulder with, fought beside, bled with, and bled for didn't surface. Present circumstances coupled with his departure demanded its arrival – there was no stopping it. So he clung to what seemed to be the only option within reach.

To disappear, sever all ties.

But to what end?

With every decision comes the opportunity to acquire knowledge. That philosophy served him well, until now that is. Now that he found himself more lost than ever, what was there to gain? What did he take away from it all? Turning the ignition, his gaze averted to the passenger seat where his leather duffel bag rested, a ticket to Cairo strewn across the top.

Apart from the obvious, what was he missing?

Why keep an article of a path abandoned in plain sight?

Opening the car door, Dembe stood and took a breath, retrieving his luggage with an equally tentative motion. He scanned the perimeter per routine. Sensing nothing out of the ordinary, he approached the property's front door.

Three feet became two.

Two became one.

Clenching his right hand into a first, he knocked and waited. Soon after, almost too quickly truth be told, the door opened. His eyes met hers, the surprise there apparent, and he found his voice first.

"Hello, Isa."

Having deposited various articles of toys and clothing into their proper locations and secured the locks for the front as well as back door, Isabella Zuma climbed the staircase and pushed open the door to her daughter's room. She was careful, not wanting to wake her. The adage pertaining to time, particularly how quickly it flies, she found to be true.

Weeks from now, Elle would be turning five.

Every moment was precious, and she ensured to savor every one while at the same time shielding her child from the realities, often harsh ones at that, accompanying their lives. After putting her daughter to bed, she found herself either rooted in front of the television scouring news outlets or reading periodicals, all of which focused on the man she loved and regarded as a second father, night after night spanning several months now.

'Raymond Reddington' and 'the death penalty'.

The two didn't warrant placement in the same sentence. To her, he was 'Papa'. The portrait constructed in her mind, memories and other tangible goods being the foundation of such an image, didn't in any way resemble what media agents were depicting him to be.

Had he done terrible things?

Yes.

But her experiences with him were anything but. His value, what he brought to her life, was immeasurable. Instantly, her thoughts wandered to the day of Elle's birth. Every aspect of that day was perfect. Her not being in a traditional hospital didn't matter and was of minimal consequence.

She had a great medical team.

Best of all, the two men who comprised her entire world were with her, at her side: holding her hands, rubbing her back, speaking words of encouragement, and even sharing her tears. Never had she felt more loved and supported.

The detail in her mind's eye was so vivid, crisp.

For a moment, she found herself in that makeshift medical wing again.

She succeeded in bringing a new life into the world, her family tree gaining a new branch. Any pain or discomfort melted away in catching the first glimpse of her daughter's tiny form. Her father grasped her hand tighter in that moment, his gaze similarly transfixed. Papa's eyes alternated between them before pressing a kiss into her hair.

"I'm so proud of you. Congratulations." He said.

Her breath caught at the emotion in his voice.

Isabella looked at him then. Silent tears coursed down his handsome face, and she brought the palm of her hand upward, wiping away the moisture. When first learning of her pregnancy, she and Dembe knew the months ahead would be difficult for him, the memories that her state would evoke.

Instead of pain, Raymond responded with even more affection.

"Thank you."

Neither she nor her daughter would want for anything.

Ever.

Sinking into his embrace, Dembe rounded the table, cut the umbilical cord, and held her daughter – his grandchild – for the first time.

Time stopped when Elle was transferred to Raymond's arms. He was so selfless and good which made his seemingly resigning himself to never experiencing joy similar in degree difficult to digest. However, watching him look at Elle with so much adoration, she realized that he had in fact found it again.

Their family of four was his purpose – his heart was full.

He deserved the best life had to offer.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind about that.

In turn, developments as of late were distressing to get a grip on. She and her father spoke every night; sometimes, they managed to speak multiple times a day. Occasions such as those made it impossible not to loathe the distance between them, however vital it was to 'keeping her safe'.

There had to be something she could do, she countered.

Isabella offered to help with the investigation, but of course Dembe assured her that all was taken care of. Just her unwavering love and support were enough to sustain both his and Raymond's hopes. Though not fully satisfied, she settled for that and directed her energy to knowing of every facet: his arrest, his transfer from one holding facility to another, the court proceedings, and underlying conspiracies in play. Not even the botched escape attempt followed by the public perception of one went without conversation.

How did this happen?

The more she examined her father's accounts and what was being relayed through other sources, the more she dwelled on that question – and the more she worried. Speculation typically wasn't a base to operate from, but it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

No one was more careful, more vigilant, than Raymond, but not even he was immune to weaknesses.

She could hurt him.

Something else was going on.

A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. Isabella looked to the clock; it was near midnight. Only one person would be at her home this time of night. She raced to the front door and pulled it open, revealing Dembe. Her knees buckled; she felt unsteady on her feet.

Had her worst fear come true?

Was her Papa no longer part of the world?

What was she going to tell Elle?

How could they function without him?

Dispelling those thoughts from her mind, she quickly composed herself, determined to stay as tough as possible for her father and her daughter. But she had to know.

"Is he – "

"No, Isa. Raymond is fine. He's alive."

Immediately, she was relieved. On the other hand…

"Then, what are you doing here?"