"Young Lord Joel—he's awake!"
The maid's cry cut.
Joel's lashes fluttered weakly, his eyes struggling to open as light bled back into his vision. Everything felt distant—heavy—as though he were trapped beneath water. The ceiling above him swam, white and familiar, shifting in and out of focus.
He had been asleep for hours.
Down the corridor, the doctor had been speaking in hushed tones with Lord Leo when the scream echoed through the halls. Both men froze for a heartbeat before rushing toward the sound. By the time they entered the chamber, the maid had already stepped back, hands clasped tightly in front of her chest.
Joel blinked again. His sight was still blurry, but he recognized the presence at his side before he could make out the face.
"Son?" Lord Leo said softly, lowering himself onto the chair beside the bed. Worry lined his weathered features, deeper than usual.
The doctor approached from the opposite side, fingers pressing gently against Joel's wrist, then his neck, counting the rhythm of his pulse. Joel's chest rose and fell unevenly beneath the covers.
"He needs rest," the doctor said after a moment, already reaching for his phone. "No excitement. His body is exhausted."
Joel's gaze drifted back to the ceiling. He did not blink.
"Joel," Lord Leo tried again, leaning closer. "Can you hear me?"
The room felt too large. Too quiet.
"Grandpa…" Joel's voice came out fragile, as though it might break if he spoke any louder. "Where's my mother?"
The question landed heavily between them.
Lord Leo stiffened.
He had heard this question too many times. Every time it was asked, it reopened a wound that was not his to expose.
"If your father hasn't told you," he said carefully, choosing each word with painful precision, "what do you expect me to say?"
Joel's eyes burned.
"Father won't tell me either."
Tears slipped free before he could stop them. His vision finally cleared as he blinked hard, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. Embarrassment and hurt twisted together in his chest.
"You're all cruel," he whispered.
He turned onto his side, burying his face into the pillow as though the world itself had offended him.
Lord Leo stood slowly, his shoulders heavy with guilt he could not voice.
"Rest well, my boy," he mumbled.
The door closed behind him.
Joel cried until exhaustion dragged him back into darkness.
Michael returned home long after the house had fallen silent.
He did not announce himself. He never did.
His steps carried him instinctively toward his son's room. Anger still simmered beneath his skin from earlier that day, but the moment he reached the door, it faltered.
The light was on.
That alone was wrong.
"Joel?" Michael called softly as he pushed the door open.
The sight of the bed stopped him.
The sheets were damp, wrinkled where small fists had clutched and released them again and again. The air smelled faintly of medicine and tears.
Michael inhaled slowly, steadying himself, and sat beside the bed.
"Joel…"
Joel's lashes fluttered open. His eyes met his father's, glassy and red-rimmed.
"You're my model," Michael said quietly, brushing his thumb across Joel's cheek. "Don't ruin your face with tears."
Joel sniffed and pushed himself upright, his movements sluggish.
"Good evening, Dad."
"What made you cry?"
Joel stared down at his hands, watching them tremble against the blanket. "I want to meet my mom."
The room fell silent.
"You will," Michael said at last. "One day."
The words landed differently than they ever had before.
Relief flooded Joel's chest so suddenly that it almost hurt. A small, hopeful smile crept onto his lips—one Michael had not seen in months.
"My mum said if she ever sees me again," Joel whispered, his voice shaking, "she'll kill my twin sister."
Michael froze.
"She meant it."
Joel looked up sharply. "Dad… I have a twin?"
"You cried too much as a baby," Michael said, rising abruptly. "You won't like that story today."
He turned, then paused, his gaze lingering on his son's frightened eyes.
"Prepare yourself. You're coming with me."
"But Dad—I need to resume school—"
"Pack everything important," Michael said, already walking away. "Documents. Clothes. Things you like."
The door shut before another question could form.
"Sleep well, Dad," Joel called softly.
Silence answered him.
Joel stared at his wardrobe, heart pounding.
"Where do I even start?" he murmured.
Morning arrived far too quickly.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, catching dust motes in the air. Five travel cases stood lined neatly against the wall. Joel collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, when a sharp knock jolted him upright.
"No…" he groaned, rubbing his eyes.
The door opened.
Madam Leo stepped inside.
She had wanted to check on him all night—but her husband had warned her to stay away from Michael's son.