Daisy set the tea and snacks down in front of Madison, her expression etched with concern.
"Madison, you're here so early. Is everything alright?" Daisy asked, taking a seat beside her.
Madison gave a small, tight nod. "Yes, everything's fine. I actually came to ask your brother something."
"You want to ask Ethan?"
Madison nodded again, her gaze fixed on her hands. Sensing the tension, Daisy didn't press further. "Well, while we wait... can you help me with my studies?"
Madison agreed, and Daisy fetched her books. They worked in a quiet hum for twenty minutes until the sound of the front door clicking open broke the silence. Ethan stepped inside, his eyes immediately landing on the two girls huddled over textbooks on the couch.
Madison's head snapped up. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke.
"Sit, brother," Daisy said, breaking the spell. "I'll get you something to drink."
Ethan nodded and took the seat directly across from Madison. The air in the room grew heavy.
"Ethan," Madison began, her voice steady but thin. "Remember what you told me during the trip? That you would tell me the truth about my mother."
Ethan leaned back, his gaze searching hers. "Madison," he said softly. "Did you really never spend time with her?"
"A little, when I was very young," she replied. "Why?"
"The way you asked about her... it sounded like you never knew her at all."
Madison opened her mouth to respond, but Daisy reappeared, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of Ethan. She lingered for a moment, picking up on the sharp, complex expression on Madison's face. Realizing this wasn't a conversation for an audience, Daisy grabbed her keys.
"I actually need to run to the shop for some groceries," Daisy said, already backing toward the door. "You guys talk."
As soon as the door clicked shut, Madison's shoulders slumped. The mask she'd been wearing began to crack.
"You were saying?" Ethan prompted.
"My mother left for another country when I was small," Madison said, her voice trembling. "People always teased me. They said she abandoned me. I tried to tell myself she was just busy with work, but..." she paused, swallowing hard. "A kid once told me that his parents would leave everything for him, but my mother chose work over me. And now, all these years later... she still hasn't come back."
Ethan watched her attentively. He saw the first tear well up in her eye.
"She left me for work, Ethan. That's the truth, isn't it?"
Ethan's eyes widened slightly, a flash of pity crossing his face. She doesn't know, he realized. She has no idea she's gone.
"Madison," Ethan said, leaning forward. "Your mother was in Russia for work, yes. But do you know what that work was?"
"Helping people? Something like that," she whispered.
"She was building shelters," Ethan said. "She was saving children who had nothing—no food, no families, no hope. She saved dozens of them." He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I was one of them."
Madison froze, her eyes widening in shock.
"And there's something you need to understand: she never abandoned you," Ethan continued firmly. "She talked about you constantly. She showed me a photo of you in your school uniform—your first day. I've never seen a person look so proud. She knew you might grow up to hate her for being away, but she did it to keep you safe."
"Safe?" Madison choked out.
"Your family is powerful, Madison. She had enemies. If she stayed close to you, those enemies would have targeted you to get to her. Every move she made was watched. The 'work' calls she made? Most of them were to your father, checking on you, telling him what you liked, what you hated, making sure you were cared for."
Madison's eyes overflowed. "Why didn't she just tell me?" she sobbed. "She could have told me!"
Ethan's expression crumbled into deep sadness. "She wanted to. But Madison... there is more. Your mother didn't stay away these last few years by choice."
He took a shaky breath. "She passed away several years ago."
The air left Madison's lungs. She slid from the sofa, collapsing onto the floor as a raw, uncontrollable sob tore through her.
"I'm sorry, Mother," she wailed, her forehead pressed against the rug. "I hated you... I blamed you for everything, and all you did was love me. I'm so sorry."
Ethan moved from his seat and knelt beside her, pulling her into a slow, protective hug. He didn't try to stop her tears; he let her grieve for the woman who had been a mother to them both in different ways.
"A mother's love," Ethan murmured into the quiet room, "is a debt no one can ever truly repay. And a mother never asks for it."