2025-06-28 19:19:17
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100
Caleb waited in the living room, a nervous energy buzzing through him. Mr. Callahan and Mr. Richard sat nearby, their eyes fixed on him, a mixture of disbelief and profound joy on their faces. The air was thick with anticipation. He had told them everything, from the night of the fire to his long, painful recovery and his return to them in a new guise. They had listened in stunned silence, their hearts breaking and healing all at once.He watched the front door, his heart hammering against his ribs. It had been years. Years since he had held her, kissed her, and heard her laugh. He had seen her daily, watched her from a distance, but he had never truly been with her. The thought of seeing her again, of telling her the truth, filled him with both excitement and dread. What if she didn't believe him? What if she didn't see him as Caleb anymore and just Arthur?The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke his thoughts. The door opened, and Diana walked in, her arms full of shopping
99
Arthur sat on the balcony of the Callahan mansion, his gaze distant. A cool breeze brushed against his skin, but he didn't notice. His mind was replaying a forgotten scene. He saw himself at a grand gala, a young man named Caleb, who was only a delivery boy then. He remembered standing beside Diana, pretending to be her fiancé to save her from an arranged marriage. He could almost feel the tension when a boy named Tony, filled with hatred, had started a fight. The memory was sharp. He saw Tony grab Caleb, and in that moment, Mr. Callahan's eyes had fallen on the necklace around Caleb's neck. It was the same necklace Mr. Callahan's late wife had. A simple glass of wine, a quick DNA test, and the astonishing discovery that Caleb was his long-lost son.This memory was the first domino to fall. Suddenly, a flood of other memories rushed back. The first time he had kissed Diana, the passion they shared, the introduction of Darius as his assistant, and Daphne as his bodyguard. He remembered
98
The morning sunlight filtered into the mansion through thin white curtains, too bright for a house that felt like it hadn't seen peace in years. Somewhere in the distance, Jasper’s giggles echoed from the living room where the nanny was setting up balloons. The boy’s birthday was today. And the air, though light with celebration, felt choked by something heavier something no one was naming.Arthur stood at the end of the hallway in his plain white shirt, holding a small box in his hand an unmarked gift wrapped in soft brown paper. He wasn’t sure why he bought it. Maybe because the child had called him “Uncle” once. Maybe because it felt wrong not to. Or maybe, just maybe, he was trying to be part of something he couldn’t explain.He hadn’t slept much.Diana hadn’t looked at him again since last night.And Diego… still hadn’t returned his calls.As Arthur moved closer to the living room, he paused when he heard familiar voices Mr. and Mrs. Callahan were already seated on the long velve
97
The silence in Diego’s house still lingered in Arthur’s chest as he stepped out into the cooling afternoon air. His footsteps were steady, but his mind wasn’t. He walked like someone who had seen a ghost—only this time, the ghost might have been himself.The streets passed in a blur. His thoughts replayed everything Mr. Callahan had said.> “He is my son… we reunited again after twenty years only to spend four years together before he died again in that fire.”And then the photograph. That picture. The face.It wasn’t his. But it looked too much like him. It was almost as if the man in that photo had lived the life Arthur could’ve had. A real family. A father who mourned him. A wife. A child. A legacy.Arthur clenched his jaw and walked faster.He didn’t know why it unsettled him so much. He didn’t know why he felt like that old man’s grief weighed on his own chest. He wasn’t Caleb. He wasn’t Mr. Callahan’s son. He was Arthur. A man who knew next to nothing about his past, who was onl
96
The study was dimly lit, filled with the scent of old paper and something faintly smoky—perhaps from the fireplace that hadn’t been used in weeks. Mr. Callahan’s fingers hovered over a stack of albums tucked into the bottom shelf. He slowly pulled one out, a leather-bound photo album already frayed at the edges from too much handling over the years.Arthur stood at the doorway, unsure whether to step back or remain still. He had come to return a book to Mr. Callahan, but the conversation had taken a strange turn.Mr. Callahan opened a page, eyes softening at a photograph. His voice, when it came, was quiet, almost to himself.“What? That was where my son died.”Arthur shifted. “Sir?”Mr. Callahan turned the photo album around and pointed to a burned structure in a picture. It was taken long ago, probably by the press or police. “That was the place,” he said, then reached into a drawer and brought out a framed photograph.He handed it to Arthur.Arthur took it carefully, glancing down
95
The room was quiet. The breeze from the open window lifted the curtains gently, casting strips of sunlight across Arthur’s face as he stood in quiet contemplation. A towel rested on his shoulder he had just finished cleaning and his eyes were fixed on the floor, yet his thoughts were elsewhere, deeper than the surface he stood on.“I think I need to go back home for some time,” he murmured to himself, voice low and heavy. “I need to explain better to them that I didn't run away from home. I just needed to find my way around... and try to go back to living my life, not depending on my family.”It wasn’t guilt that weighed him down. It was something heavier—an unshakable sense of unfinished business. And perhaps, somewhere deep inside, it was the echo of a life he hadn’t fully remembered.Wiping his hands one last time, he folded the towel and draped it over his shoulder before walking out. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he made his way to Mr. Callahan’s office. He reached the door
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