Chapter 7 - The Mother Who Was Silenced
For four years, I believed my mother was gone.
Not dead.
But gone.
Her body remained in the room at the estate.
Her heartbeat continued.
Her eyes sometimes moved.
But the woman who raised me disappeared after the night Ewan died.
Doctors called it trauma.
They called it a neurological response.
They called it something that happened after unbearable loss.
I believed them.
Because I wanted to.
Because believing the doctors was easier than accepting the alternative.
Someone had stolen my mother’s voice.
---
I returned to the estate before sunset.
The same hallway.
The same paintings.
The same room where my mother had spent four years staring at the ceiling.
But now everything looked different.
Every corner had a question.
Every person had a secret.
The security team stood outside her room.
Matteo approached me.
“Boss.”
“Where is the doctor?”
“Gone.”
My expression changed.
“Gone?”
“He left the estate thirty minutes after we found the footage.”
“Did anyone stop him?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“That was a mistake.”
Matteo lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
I hated that answer.
Because I knew he was right.
Everyone made mistakes.
But in my world, mistakes were expensive.
And this one had lasted four years.
I entered my mother’s room alone.
She was awake.
Her eyes moved toward me immediately.
This time, there was no confusion.
No emptiness.
She knew exactly who I was.
I sat beside her.
“Mom.”
Her hand moved.
Slowly.
Weakly.
But deliberately.
She reached for mine.
I held it.
And for the first time in years, I felt like my mother was actually there.
“I’m sorry.”
My voice cracked slightly.
A thing I hated.
A thing I never allowed.
But with her, I did not care.
“I should have known.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
I looked away.
Because seeing her cry was harder than any enemy standing in front of me.
Then her fingers moved.
She pointed toward the notebook beside the bed.
I grabbed it.
The pages were filled with handwriting.
Messy.
Weak.
But clear.
I turned the first page.
Gabriel.
If you are reading this, then I finally found the strength to tell you.
My heart tightened.
She had been writing.
For years.
She had been trying to communicate.
And nobody knew.
I continued reading.
They told everyone I could not speak.
That I was confused.
That my mind was damaged.
They were wrong.
I was awake.
I heard everything.
Every conversation.
Every lie.
Every promise.
My hands became cold.
Because suddenly I understood.
My mother had been trapped inside her own body.
Listening.
Watching.
Waiting.
The next line shook me.
I know who killed Ewan.
I stopped.
The room disappeared.
The walls.
The sounds.
Everything.
Only those words existed.
I know who killed Ewan.
I turned the page.
But before I could continue, the door opened.
I immediately closed the notebook.
Celeste stood there.
Of course.
Always at the wrong moment.
Or maybe exactly the right one.
“What are you doing?”
Her eyes moved toward the notebook.
I stood.
“Leaving.”
Her expression changed.
“You found something.”
I said nothing.
“Gabriel.”
I looked at her.
“You should leave.”
She stared.
For the first time, my order actually surprised her.
“You want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
“After everything?”
I almost smiled.
“After everything?”
She stepped closer.
“You think I am the enemy.”
“I think I don’t know you.”
That hurt her.
I saw it.
For a brief moment, the mask disappeared.
Then it returned.
“You are making a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“But you don’t understand what happens if you push me away.”
I looked at her.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
Her voice lowered.
“It is a warning.”
“From who?”
Silence.
A mistake.
Again.
“Celeste.”
She looked away.
And that was the moment I knew.
She was not acting alone.
---
That night, I opened my mother’s notebook in my office.
The final pages contained everything.
Dates.
Names.
Locations.
Conversations.
My mother had documented the years before Ewan’s death.
And one name appeared repeatedly.
Not Celeste.
Not Vincent.
Someone else.
Someone I had never suspected.
Someone who had been part of our family for decades.
Dr. Adrian Voss.
The same doctor who treated my mother.
The same doctor who declared she would never recover.
The same doctor who disappeared hours after we discovered the truth.
I turned the page.
My mother had written:
Adrian knew about Ewan.
He knew about Delia.
He knew about the child.
He knew everything.
I stopped.
The child.
Delia’s daughter.
Ewan’s daughter.
My niece.
The next sentence made my blood run cold.
Adrian wanted the child gone because she was the last proof of what happened at Pier 44.
I closed the notebook.
For years, I thought the fire took my brother.
I was wrong.
The fire was only the beginning.
Someone had spent six years trying to erase a child.
Trying to silence my mother.
Trying to control my family.
And now I knew one thing.
The person behind everything was still alive.
And they were still inside my house.
---
At midnight, my phone received a message.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
I opened it.
My blood froze.
It was Delia.
Leaving the hospital.
But she was not alone.
Someone was following her.
A man in a dark coat.
I enlarged the image.
The face became clearer.
I recognized him immediately.
Because I had seen him before.
At Pier 44.
In the photograph.
The man who was never supposed to exist.
My phone rang.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a familiar voice whispered:
“Gabriel.”
I gripped the phone.
“Who is this?”
The voice replied:
“The person who knows what really happened to Ewan.”
A pause.
“And the person who knows who your father was protecting.”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
The man laughed softly.
“You still think you are chasing the truth.”
Silence.
“You’re not.”
“Then what am I doing?”
His answer came quietly.
“You are walking into the same trap that killed your brother.”
The call ended.
I looked at the photograph again.
The man from Pier 44.
The missing witness.
The forgotten name.
And for the first time...
I wondered if Ewan had known he was going to die.
May you like
Maybe he did not leave a message because he was surprised.
Maybe he left one because he knew I would eventually need it.
