Her Bodyguard (English Version)

“Benedict!” The prison guard rapped his baton repeatedly against the iron bars, his eyes scanning the inmates gathered in the Blackford prison yard. “Benedict Cerg!” he called again. “Your lawyer’s here.” A man with a scruffy beard stepped forward. “I wasn’t scheduled to meet her today.” “Not my problem. But your lawyer’s waiting in the visitors’ room.” Benedict sighed, then followed the guard across the yard. In the middle of the sterile room, Mrs. Cassie Frost—his attorney of over fifty years—greeted him with a warm smile. “I have good news. Sit down.” Cassie opened her briefcase, pulled out a folder, and slid it across the table to him. “That’s the court’s decision. They’re reducing your sentence by fifteen years because of your good behavior. Do you know what that means?” “It means I’m getting out of this place tomorrow,” Ben murmured, eyes still fixed on the folder. “That’s right. But you don’t look happy about it.” “Have you really never understood me, after all this time as my lawyer?” Ben asked with a faint smile. “Don’t be foolish, Ben. Don’t end up back in here. Once you’re out, find a job. Build a life.” “A life? With my record? No one hires an ex-con.” Cassie reached out and gently clasped Ben’s hand, giving it a reassuring pat. “I’ll help you find something.” “That won’t be necessary—” “I’m not giving you a choice,” Cassie cut him off. “Now I’ve got to run. More cases to handle. Here—call me anytime.” She handed him her business card. “You’ve been too kind to me.” “I know you're a good man, Ben.” *** “Don’t come back here. You’re too good for a place like Blackford.” Ben smiled at the guard escorting him to the gates. “No promises,” he said before walking away from the prison that had held him for fifteen years. Fifteen years. A lifetime, taken from him for a single act—defending his father. But Ben had no regrets about what he’d done to those bastards. The ones who stormed into their home in the dead of night, dragging his father away. Days later, Ben visited him behind bars. Two weeks after that, the news came: his father had taken his own life. Ben’s steps stopped in front of a small, weathered house. The yard was overrun with wild grass that reached his waist. Vines crawled up the walls and across the rusted fence. He shoved the gate open, headed around to the side, and found an old wooden box. Inside, just where he remembered, was the house key. Everything inside was just as he’d left it. He pulled white sheets off the furniture and collapsed into one of the dusty sofas. His eyes landed on a picture frame, its covering cloth having fallen off. In it, a smiling young Ben stood beside his father, proudly holding up a fish he’d caught at the lake. Their last photo together. He had tried so hard to bury those memories, but they clawed their way back anyway. No matter how much he wanted to follow Cassie’s advice, his heart still burned with anger—for those who had torn his life apart. Ben stood up. He wouldn’t waste time sulking. Cassie was right—he needed to find work. The only problem was, he had no skills beyond hand-to-hand combat, something he picked up training with other inmates. He cleaned the house as best he could, showered, and then walked to a diner just a few blocks away. The old man behind the counter looked almost the same—just a bit grayer in his beard and hair. When their eyes met, Ben saw the shock, and the tears, begin to form. The man stepped out from behind the register and pulled Ben into a tight hug. “How are you here? Are you—” “I’m free, Vernon.” Vernon, his late father's friend, stared in disbelief. This was the boy who used to play with his son, the boy who refused all visits while in prison. And now he was standing before him again. Vernon hugged him once more. “I’ll make your favorite meal.” “You still remember?” “Of course. It was mine and your dad’s favorite too—spaghetti.” Ben laughed and followed Vernon to a barstool by the counter. “How’s the diner business?” “Better than ever.” “And Peter?” “Married. Lives four hours from here. Honestly, I hate the drive—but the grandkids are sweet enough to make it worth it.” Vernon rolled his eyes with a smile. Soon a plate of steaming spaghetti and a glass of beer were in front of Ben. He devoured it without hesitation. “Have you visited your father’s grave?” “I haven’t had the courage.” “Why not?” Ben took a long drink of his beer before answering. “Because I’m not the son he dreamed of. No college degree, no job in a suit and tie. No used car, no crate of beers to give him.” “Ben, your father would’ve understood. Focus on your future now.” Ben nodded quietly, taking in Vernon’s words. The diner was calm that afternoon. A few families enjoyed Vernon’s famous spaghetti. Three truck drivers—regulars—sat near the back. It felt surreal. At this hour yesterday, Ben had been in the prison yard, kicking a ball or sitting quietly, thinking about nothing and everything. Now, he was sipping beer and listening to kids chatter about school. “Where’s your restroom? Hurry, I need it now!” Ben turned. A young woman, panting and wild-eyed, was shouting at Vernon. “Down the hall, on the left,” Vernon replied, startled. Without another word, she rushed off, leaving Vernon and Ben exchanging confused looks. “Maybe she’s heartbroken. Needs a place to cry,” Vernon muttered. Ben was about to reply when the diner door burst open with a bang. Two large men stormed in, making a beeline for Vernon’s counter. “Where’s the girl in the blue shirt? She came in here, didn’t she?” Vernon glanced at Ben, who subtly shook his head. He knew instantly who they were after. “I’ve been standing here the whole time. Haven’t seen anyone like that,” Vernon said calmly. The two men turned, scanning the room. One started toward the hallway. Ben leapt off his stool. “Hey!” he shouted. “Move. I don’t care—” “Sorry, but I really can’t hold it anymore,” Ben interrupted, hands pressed awkwardly to his groin. “Bladder issues,” he added with a quick glance down. “Whatever, man,” the thug muttered and stepped aside. Ben hurried forward. Just as the restroom door opened, he slipped inside, grabbed the girl, and clamped a hand over her mouth before she could scream. He locked the door. “There are two big guys outside looking for you,” he whispered. Her eyes widened. “You're hiding from them, right?” She nodded. “Then stay quiet. Wait until Vernon gives us the all-clear.” “Hey! What the hell’s going on in there? Who are you talking to?” came the angry voice from outside, followed by a loud kick against the door. “I told you—I’ve got bladder issues!” Ben shouted back. “I talk to myself when I’m in tight spaces. It calms me down!” Silence. Apparently, the guy bought it. A moment later, Vernon’s voice replaced his. “It’s safe. They’re gone.” “Let’s go,” Ben said. “Thank you,” the girl in blue said once they were back at the bar. Ben sat down and sipped the beer Vernon had refilled. “Hey! I said thank you!” she repeated, annoyed. Ben ignored her. “Miss, he heard you. It’s best if you leave now, before those men come back,” Vernon said gently. “My name’s Radella. You can call me Ella.” She held out her hand. Ben didn’t move. “You’re the strangest guy I’ve ever met! I just wanted to say thanks and introduce myself!” “Miss—” “Why did you help me if you’re just going to act like this?” Ben stood up and walked toward the door. “Hey! Where are you going?” “To bring those two guys back.” “Wait!” Ella grabbed his arm. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone.” She let go and stomped out of the diner. “Jerk!” she yelled from the parking lot. Ben heard her clearly. “She just wanted to thank you, Ben.” “I didn’t need it.” “Then why did you help her?” “She looked like a puppy that needed saving.” “A puppy? You think she’s cute?” Ben smirked. “She’s terrifying.” ***