“Everything’s so big here, Mommy!” he exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement.
Alana’s heart softened at his joy. Her homeland, with all its painful memories, still held a beauty she couldn’t deny. The familiar smells, the chatter of different voices, and the golden glow of the evening sun filtering through the glass walls stirred a bittersweet feeling in her chest.
Just as they exited the arrivals hall, two men in dark suits approached her. Their polite smiles didn’t reach their eyes as they inclined their heads.
“Miss Tavares, we were sent by Old Lady Presgrave. She has arranged a ride for you,” one of them said with practiced courtesy.
Alana stopped, her hands tightening on the cart’s handle. She knew the Presgraves’ intentions were kind but couldn’t accept their generosity.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” she replied firmly but politely. “Please tell Old Lady Presgrave my mother’s actions needed no repayment. She did what was right, and that’s enough for me.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t press further. As she walked past them toward the taxi stand, one of them discreetly pulled out a phone.
In the backseat of a sleek black BMW parked near the entrance, Enzo Presgrave’s piercing gaze was fixed on the sliding glass doors of the airport. The call came through, and he answered it without looking away.
“Young Lord Enzo, Miss Tavares has declined our offer,” the voice on the other end informed him.
Enzo set his phone aside just in time to see a woman step into view. Her white blouse and simple jeans didn’t mask her elegance. Her hair was pulled back, revealing soft features that seemed to glow under the setting sun. He couldn’t look away.
But it wasn’t just her that caught his attention. A small boy leaped off the cart and stood beside her, his tiny figure straight and confident. The child had thick, tousled hair and features startlingly refined for someone so young. As Alana knelt to adjust his sweater, the tenderness in her eyes was unmistakable.
Enzo’s chest tightened. Who is the boy? he wondered. Is she married? Perhaps he wouldn’t have to fulfill his grandmother’s wishes if she were. He watched as they climbed into a taxi, the boy chatting animatedly, and then his fleet of cars pulled away from the curb.
In the Presgrave residence, Old Lady Presgrave sat in her grand yet cozy living room, sipping tea as her subordinates recounted their latest findings. Her sharp eyes widened slightly at the news.
“Alana has a child? Is she married?” she asked, her voice carrying both surprise and intrigue.
“No, ma’am,” one of the men replied. “The child’s father has never been identified. It appears she is raising him on her own.”
Rita Presgrave’s lips pressed into a thin line, guilt flickering in her eyes. “A single mother so young,” she murmured. Memories of the brave police officer who had given her life for Enzo resurfaced. “We owe her everything.”
At that moment, Enzo stepped into the room. His tall figure carried an air of authority, but his expression softened as he greeted his grandmother.
“Grandma, Alana keeps refusing our help. Maybe it’s best to—”
“No,” Rita interrupted, her tone firm. “You must take care of her, Enzo. Protect her and her child. That is your duty.”
Enzo’s brow furrowed. “Marriage isn’t the only way. We can find another—”
“Taking care of her for life is the least we can do,” Rita cut him off, her voice tinged with sorrow. “Amelia Camacho gave everything to save you. You will honor her sacrifice.”
Enzo exhaled slowly, the weight of his grandmother’s words settling heavily on him. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll marry her.”
But as he agreed, his thoughts wandered to another—a woman he still couldn’t forget. A woman he had wronged and needed to make amends with, even if it meant keeping secrets from his determined grandmother.
Meanwhile, Alana tucked her son into bed in a modest yet warmly decorated apartment. His peaceful face glowed softly in the dim light, and her heart swelled with love and resolve. She stared at her phone, her father’s number lingering on the screen. She had often thought about calling him, but fear always held her back.
“It’s been five years,” she whispered to herself. “Is he still angry?”
With a heavy sigh, she set the phone aside. Some wounds, she thought, were best left untouched.
Last updated on August 20th, 2025 at 11:21 pm
