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As though this villa belonged solely to Howard and Maria, there wasn't a single trace of Tony in any of the pictures.
It was as if, to this loving couple, their son didn't exist at all.
'So, my absence from home made no difference to my mother?'
Tony's expression crumbled, oscillating uncontrollably between calm and sorrow.
This was the home where his beloved mother had lived, filled with so many photos preserving memories of the past. And yet, there wasn't a single one of him among them. Could there be anything more heartbreaking?
He pushed open the storage room. Inside were photographs of his mother in her youth, alongside the numerous awards Howard had received from the end of World War II to the present.
It wasn't until Tony moved everything aside that he discovered, at the very bottom, his childhood bicycle. He vividly remembered how he had begged Howard to teach him to ride, only to be ignored. In the end, he taught himself through countless falls and scraped knees.
As he walked out of the storage room, Tony couldn't shake the feeling that this place had nothing to do with him. It didn't feel like his parents' house. It felt like the house of two strangers.
There was hardly any evidence left to prove that he had ever been a part of this home. Yet he knew he had lived here as a child—right across from the storage room.
Turning around, Tony's gaze fell on the door to his childhood room.
There, written in his mother's handwriting, was a name: "Tony."
Clinging to his last shred of hope, Tony stepped into his childhood room. At that moment, he realized he had been wrong.
His presence hadn't been erased from this villa—it had simply been concentrated and preserved within this small room.
The walls surrounding him were like a flowing river of time, filled with various items from his childhood up until the day he chose to leave and live on his own. Everything was meticulously arranged, as though each object told a story of the past.
Taking a slow look around the room, Tony felt as if he were reliving his childhood all over again.
The toys he thought were broken and discarded had been lovingly repaired. The awards he had won over the years were proudly displayed in a spotless glass cabinet.
It had been three days since his parents' accident, but not a speck of dust could be found in the room.
'They must have come here often… Did they come into my room to revisit my life and everything I've been through?'
In that instant, Tony felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for Alfred's advice. Instead of blindly seeking the truth, he had come here and found pieces of his past. More importantly, he felt the undeniable love his parents had for him.
And then, his eyes landed on something.
"What's this…"
On the nightstand sat a videotape, its appearance showing the wear of at least a decade.
Holding the tape carefully, Tony retrieved Howard's favorite old projector from the storage room. He gently inserted the tape and pressed the play button.
The screen flickered to life, and images from over ten years ago began to unfold before Tony's eyes.
"....."