chapter 170
Elena's POV:
"Dear God," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You have his eyes. William's eyes."
Victoria stepped forward, her professional composure wavering. "Elena, I'm Victoria. This is our father, Theodore." She paused, seeming to gather herself. "We're so grateful you agreed to see us."
I managed to find my voice, though it came out smaller than intended. "Please, come in. We can talk in the drawing room."
As I led them through the manor, I was acutely aware of their presence behind me—the family my father never knew existed, the connections that might have changed everything if they'd been found sooner.
The drawing room was warm and inviting, a fire crackling in the hearth. I gestured for them to sit, grateful that my hands had stopped shaking quite so visibly.
"Can I offer you some tea?" I asked, falling back on the rituals of hospitality to steady myself.
"That would be lovely," Victoria said warmly, while Theodore simply stared at me as if trying to memorize every detail.
As Alfred quietly arranged for tea to be served, an awkward silence fell. There was so much to say, and no clear place to begin.
Finally, Victoria cleared her throat delicately. "Elena, we know this must be overwhelming. We just... we've been looking for William for so long."
"Forty-one years," Theodore added, his voice rough with emotion. "Not a day passed that I didn't wonder what happened to my boy."
"I understand," I replied quietly.
The tea arrived, giving us all something to do with our hands.
As I poured, I found myself studying them—these strangers who shared my blood.
"Where is he now?" Theodore asked suddenly, looking around as if Robert might walk through the door at any moment. "When can we meet him?"
The question I'd been dreading. My hand moved instinctively to my belly, where the baby shifted restlessly. I opened my mouth, searching for words that wouldn't come, when the front door burst open.
"Elena?" Sebastian's voice carried through the foyer, followed by the sound of his briefcase hitting the marble floor.
He appeared in the doorway. His eyes swept the room in a single, —taking in Theodore's presence, the untouched tea service between us.
"Mr.Hartwell," Sebastian said smoothly, his entire demeanor shifting into that of the perfect host even as he moved to my side. "What an unexpected pleasure."
My throat felt tight as I forced the words out. "Mr.Hartwell, this is... this is Sebastian Vane, my husband."
Theodore rose immediately, extending his hand with genuine warmth. "Mr. Vane, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
His weathered face broke into a relieved smile. "Well, I must say, seeing you both here together, clearly doing well—it puts an old man's heart at ease. That's all I needed to know, really."
The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten. I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again. How could I tell this kind man that his son—?
Sebastian must have sensed my distress. His hand found mine, squeezing gently before he spoke. "Mr.Hartwell, I believe there's something you should know."
Theodore's smile faltered slightly. "Oh?"
"About Robert." Sebastian's voice was steady, respectful. "I'm afraid he passed away weeks ago."
The silence that followed was deafening. Theodore's face had gone ashen, his hands trembling where they gripped his teacup. Victoria's careful composure finally shattered completely, tears streaming down her face.
"How?" Victoria asked hoarsely. "Was he ill? Was there... could we have..."
I couldn't tell them the truth—that he'd taken his own life. They didn't need that burden on top of their grief.
"A car accident," Sebastian said smoothly, his lie a kindness. "Very sudden. "
Theodore crumpled, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Victoria moved to comfort him, but her own grief was evident in every line of her body.
"Forty-one years," Theodore whispered brokenly. "Forty-one years of searching, and we're too late."
The raw pain in his voice broke something inside me. Tears blurred my vision as I imagined how different this moment could have been—my father sitting here with us, reuniting with his father after decades apart. The happiness that had been stolen from them both.
If only he were still here...
Sebastian's hand found mine, squeezing gently as I struggled not to break down completely.
It took several minutes for us all to compose ourselves. Victoria produced handkerchiefs from her purse, dabbing at her eyes while Theodore slowly regained control of his breathing.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "It's just... I never stopped hoping..."
"There's nothing to apologize for," Sebastian said quietly.
Victoria cleared her throat, trying to steady her voice.
"Tell us about him," Victoria urged gently. "Please. Anything you're comfortable sharing."
So I did. I told them about the father who had taught me to ride a bike, who had attended every school play and art show. I told them about his terrible jokes and his love of classical music, how he could never resist feeding stray cats and how he'd cried at my college graduation.
With each story, I watched their faces transform—grief mixing with joy, loss with gratitude for these glimpses of the man their boy had become.
"He sounds wonderful," Victoria said when I finally fell silent, my throat tight with emotion. "I'm so glad he had you. That he had love in his life."
The afternoon stretched into evening as we talked, the initial formality melting away with each shared memory.
Sebastian ordered dinner to be brought in when it became clear none of us wanted this connection to end.
By the time the sun began to set, painting the room in warm golden hues, we'd progressed from careful politeness to something approaching real familiarity.
"Wait here," I said suddenly, struck by an idea. "I have something to show you."
I returned with a worn photo album, one of the few things I'd managed to save from my childhood. Theodore and Victoria leaned in eagerly as I opened it, revealing faded photographs of my father through the years.
"This was his wedding day," I said softly, pointing to a picture of him with my mother. "And here, when I was born..."
They devoured each image, fingers trembling as they traced his face through the years they'd missed.
Victoria's finger paused on the wedding photo, hovering over my mother's radiant smile.
"Is this your mother?" she asked gently. "Where is she now?"