CHAPTER 4 — THE FINAL TRUTH
A week later, a DNA test confirmed everything.
The baby was his.
No doubt.
No mistake.
The mother sat alone with the results in her hands.
Then she stood.
And walked outside.
When she arrived at the young woman’s small apartment, she didn’t knock with anger anymore.
She knocked with something heavier.
Grief.
The door opened slowly.
The young woman looked exhausted.
Bracing for rejection.
But the mother didn’t speak right away.
Instead, she looked at the baby sleeping inside.
Then at the woman who carried him through loss, fear, and silence.
Finally—
“I was wrong,” she said quietly.
The young woman froze.
The mother swallowed hard.
“My son didn’t just leave behind a child,” she continued. “He left behind a family I refused to see.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I don’t want to lose him twice.”
Silence.
Then the baby stirred slightly.
And reached out.
The mother hesitated.
Then slowly, carefully, she held him for the first time.
But as she looked down—
Her phone suddenly rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A man’s voice came through.
Calm.
Cold.
Familiar.
“You finally found out about the baby.”
Her blood turned cold.
Because she recognized that voice.
It belonged to someone she thought had been gone longer than her son.
And the last words he said were:
May you like
“He didn’t die alone.”
CUT TO BLACK.
