THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Twenty Four: The Mother Who Remembered

The drive back to Ashcroft Manor was silent.

Eleanor sat in the back seat beside Benedict.

Neither of them knew what to say.

For nearly thirty years...

She had believed her child was dead.

For nearly thirty years...

Benedict thought he was all alone in the world, with no family to speak of.

Now they were sitting only inches apart.

Yet the distance between them felt impossibly large.

Eleanor looked at him.

At the sharp line of his jaw.

The familiar eyes.

The small scar above his eyebrow.

She had seen that scar before.

Or had she?

She gripped the edge of her coat tightly, her fingers closing in around it.

"Benedict..."

He turned toward her.

"Yes?"

She hesitated.

"Do you remember anything from when you were very young?"

He looked through the window.

"Not much."

"Anything at all?"

He thought for a moment.

"A voice."

Eleanor's heart skipped.

"A woman's voice?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

Benedict closed his eyes.

The memory remained distant.

Broken.

Like pieces of a photograph scattered across the floor.

"She used to sing."

Eleanor's lips parted.

"What song?"

"I don't know."

He opened his eyes.

"But whenever I hear it..."

"...I felt safe."

Eleanor turned toward the window.

Tears quietly slipped down her cheek.

Because she knew the song.

She had sung it every night when he was a baby.

When they arrived at the manor...

Victor was waiting.

As soon as he laid eyes on Eleanor, his whole demeanor shifted.

"Where have you been?"

Eleanor stepped out of the car.

"I needed some air."

Victor looked at Benedict.

Then back at Eleanor.

Something was wrong.

He could feel it.

"Eleanor."

She avoided his eyes.

"Can we talk later?"

Victor nodded slowly.

"Of course."

Benedict walked past them toward the entrance.

Victor watched him disappear.

Then looked at his wife.

"What happened?"

Eleanor stopped.

For several seconds...

She said nothing.

Then quietly asked,

"Do you remember the night we received those letters?"

Victor froze.

His expression changed.

"Why are you asking?"

"Because I don't think they were real."

Silence.

The old wound neither of them had touched in decades had suddenly opened again.

Victor looked around the hallway.

"Not here."

They entered the private study.

Victor closed the door.

Eleanor stood near the fireplace.

"I found something."

Victor stared at her.

"What?"

"A photograph."

His expression tightened.

"What photograph?"

"Of me."

"Years ago."

"At a train station."

Victor's face lost color.

He remembered.

The letters.

The accusations.

The Heartbreak.

The day he believed Eleanor had betrayed him.

The day she disappeared from his life.

The day everything changed.

"What did you see?"

Eleanor turned toward him.

"A child."

Victor stopped breathing.

"What?"

She whispered,

"I was holding a baby."

Victor stared at her.

"No."

"I remember."

"You can't."

"Why?"

"Because..."

Victor's voice broke.

"Because we never had a child."

Eleanor stepped closer.

"That's what they made us believe."

Victor shook his head.

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"But someone wanted us apart."

Victor sank slowly into his chair.

For the first time in decades...

He allowed himself to consider the possibility he'd spent his entire life mourning a child who might never have died.

Then one thought struck him.

Benedict.

Across the hallway...

Benedict stood near the library window.

The thick doors of the study muffled all sound, leaving him in silence.

But he could feel something had changed.

Damian approached.

"You okay?"

Benedict nodded.

"I'm trying to be."

Damian glanced toward the study.

"Do you think she'll tell Father?"

"Eventually."

"And what happens then?"

Benedict looked at him.

"I don't know."

Damian gave him a small smile.

"Whatever happens..."

"You don't have to face it alone."

Benedict smiled back.

"Thank you."

For the first time that night...

The weight on his chest became slightly lighter.

Inside the study...

Victor finally stood.

"We need proof."

Eleanor nodded.

"I know."

"Where did you get the photograph?"

"Gabriel."

Victor's eyes narrowed.

"Gabriel Frost?"

"Yes."

Victor looked toward the door.

"Then we have to be careful."

"Why?"

"Because if someone hid this for thirty years..."

"...they won't stop now."

Eleanor walked toward him.

"I don't care anymore."

Victor looked at her.

"I lost my son once."

Her voice trembled.

"I won't lose him again."

Victor's eyes filled with emotion.

The shadow had slipped quietly under the door of the study, and neither of them had caught sight of it.

Someone had been standing outside.

Listening.

Then the shadow disappeared.

That night...

Inside the penthouse across the city...

The elderly mastermind sat alone.

A photograph of Eleanor rested on the table.

Beside it...

A photograph of Benedict.

The old man's hands moved slowly as he picked up the second photograph.

His expression was no longer calm.

For the first time...

There was anger in his eyes.

"She remembers."

The younger man stood silently nearby.

"What should we do?"

The old man looked toward the window.

"Nothing."

The younger man seemed surprised.

"Nothing?"

The mastermind smiled coldly.

"No."

"Let them believe they've found the truth."

He placed Benedict's photograph beside Eleanor's.

"Because they haven't."

Then he looked at the photograph of Victor.

"And when Victor finally learns what happened..."

His smile disappeared.

"...he will destroy his own family for me.”

The room fell quiet after the dark shape vanished from under the door.

Inside...

Victor stood beside the fireplace.

Eleanor remained near the window.

Neither knew where to begin.

Finally, Victor spoke.

"Tell me everything you remember."

Eleanor closed her eyes.

"I remember receiving your letter."

Victor frowned.

"My letter?"

"The one where you said you never loved me."

Victor's expression hardened.

"I never wrote that."

Eleanor looked at him.

"You said you had chosen someone else."

"I never said that."

"You accused me of using you."

"I would never."

Her breathing became uneven.

"I believed you."

Victor stared at the floor.

"And I believed your letter."

The truth suddenly became painfully clear.

Two young people.

Two false letters.

Two broken hearts.

One carefully constructed lie.

Someone had deliberately separated them.

But why?

Eleanor slowly walked toward the desk.

"There was something else."

"What?"

"The day I left."

Victor looked up.

"I remember going to the train station."

Eleanor's voice trembled.

"I was carrying a baby."

Victor's face went pale.

"You were?"

She nodded.

"I remember holding him."

"My baby."

"Our baby."

The words seemed to shake the room.

Victor stepped backward.

"No..."

Eleanor reached for his hand.

"I don't remember everything."

"But I remember the blanket."

"What color?"

"Blue."

Victor closed his eyes.

A memory suddenly surfaced.

Not of the baby.

Of Eleanor.

Young.

Crying.

Standing at the station.

He had arrived too late.

Or perhaps...

He had never arrived at all.

He had gotten a letter saying Eleanor had left on her own, so that's what he believed.

She had gotten a letter from him, or so she thought, saying he was done with her.

They had both been manipulated.

Victor opened his eyes.

"Where is the photograph?"

"I don't have it."

"But Gabriel does."

"We need to see him."

Eleanor nodded.

"Tomorrow."

Victor reached for the telephone.

Then stopped.

"No."

She looked at him.

"What?"

"We can't call him."

"Why?"

"Because someone may be listening."

Eleanor's expression changed.

Victor lowered his voice.

"From this moment onward..."

"...we trust no one."

Meanwhile...

Benedict sat alone in the library.

An old melody played inside his mind.

He couldn't remember where he'd heard it.

But he knew it.

Slowly...

He began humming.

Three notes.

Then four.

His eyes widened.

A sudden image flashed before him.

A young woman.

Dark hair.

Tears on her cheeks.

She was holding a baby.

She was singing.

The same melody.

Benedict gripped the edge of the table.

Another image came.

A railway platform.

A blue blanket.

A man's voice shouting from a distance.

Then...

A hand.

Someone taking the baby away.

Benedict gasped.

The memory vanished.

Damian rushed into the room.

"Benedict!"

He caught him before he fell.

"What happened?"

Benedict breathed heavily.

"I remembered something."

"What?"

"My mother."

Damian froze.

Benedict looked toward him.

"I think I saw her."

Damian helped him sit.

"What did she look like?"

Benedict stared into the distance.

"I don't know."

"Not clearly."

"But I heard her voice."

"What did she say?"

Benedict closed his eyes.

"She was singing."

Damian sat beside him.

"Do you remember the song?"

Benedict slowly hummed the melody.

Damian listened.

Then his expression changed.

"That's..."

"What?"

"My mother sings that song."

Benedict stared at him.

"Your mother?"

Damian nodded.

"Eleanor."

Silence.

The two brothers looked at each other.

Neither spoke.

But both understood what the melody meant.

Later that night...

Victor entered Benedict's room.

Benedict stood near the window.

"Father."

Victor stopped.

The word hit him unexpectedly.

Benedict had called him Chairman for years.

Sometimes Victor.

But rarely...

Father.

Victor swallowed.

"May I come in?"

Benedict nodded.

Victor walked inside.

For a moment, neither man spoke.

Then Victor said,

"Eleanor remembers."

Benedict's heart quickened.

"Remember what?"

"Your childhood."

Benedict stared at him.

Victor continued.

"She remembers holding a baby."

Benedict looked away.

"I think that baby was me."

Victor closed his eyes.

"I think so too."

The words were almost impossible to say.

Benedict turned toward him.

"Then why didn't you find me?"

Victor's face crumpled with pain.

"Because I didn't know you were alive."

Benedict stared at him.

Victor stepped closer.

I thought your mom had decided to walk out on me.

"I believed she had taken our child."

"And she believed I had abandoned her."

He shook his head.

"We were both wrong."

Benedict's eyes filled with emotion.

"Who did this to us?"

Victor looked at him.

"I don't know."

"But I promise you..."

"We'll find out."

Outside the room...

Eleanor stood silently.

She had heard everything.

She wiped away a tear.

Then she walked toward them.

Benedict turned.

For a moment...

Mother and son simply stared at each other.

Eleanor stepped forward.

"I remember one more thing."

Benedict waited.

"The man who took you from me."

Victor's expression changed.

"Do you remember him?"

Eleanor nodded.

"He wasn't a stranger."

She looked directly at Benedict.

"I knew him."

Benedict's heartbeat quickened.

"Who was he?"

Eleanor opened her mouth.

Then suddenly...

The lights throughout the mansion went out.

Darkness swallowed the hallway.

A scream came from downstairs.

Then the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

Victor immediately moved toward the door.

"Stay here."

But Benedict was already reaching for the handle.

"No."

"We've waited thirty years for answers."

His expression hardened.

"Tonight..."

"...we're getting one."

From somewhere downstairs...

A man's voice shouted:

"Find Benedict!"

Benedict froze.

Inside Ashcroft Manor, a command had been issued by someone.

And this time...

They weren't hiding anymore.