Chapter 25 The shadow of the name
The presence of the photograph on the table had changed the chemical makeup of the room. The air was no longer thick with jealousy or romance; it was heavy with a decades-old grief that had suddenly found a face to haunt. Victor sat perfectly still, his long fingers hovering over the faded edges of the picture. He seemed mesmerized, his usual calculated composure replaced by a raw, burning curiosity.
"You said he was a medic," Victor began, his voice low and cautious, as if he were walking through a minefield. "But if he’s thirty-one now... how old was he when he went missing? When did the war take him?"
My mother took a shaky breath, her hand resting on the table near the photo. "He wasn't a medic when we lost him, Victor. That was always the dream we had for him. He was only three years old when he disappeared. He was still a baby. We were living near the border during the civil unrest. Everything was chaos. One night, there was an evacuation... and in the smoke and the screaming, he was just gone. We were told there was an explosion at the transport site. We were told no one survived."
The room went cold. Three years old. A child lost in the machinery of a forgotten war.
"And how old are you turning this year, Victor?" my mother asked, her eyes searching his face with a desperate, frantic hope that broke my heart.
"I’m also turning thirty-one," Victor replied, his gaze dropping to the photo again. "In October."
A small, pained sob escaped my mother’s lips. She shook her head slowly. "Our Jacob... his birthday is in April. April 12th."
The tension in the room seemed to deflate, replaced by a dull, hollow ache. The dates didn't match. The history didn't align. The ghost that had been hovering over the table began to retreat into the shadows.
"I grew up in Paris," Victor said, his voice regaining some of its clinical distance, though his eyes remained soft. "My father moved us there when I was an infant. He said the climate was better for his business interests. I spent my childhood in boarding schools and private estates in the French countryside. We didn't move back to this side of the world until I was nearly twelve. My mother... the woman who raised me... she passed away shortly after we returned. I don't have many memories of my earliest years. My father doesn't like to talk about the 'struggling years' before the Blackwood empire truly solidified."
My parents listened in silence, nodding slowly. The Paris story was the final nail in the coffin of my mother’s sudden hope. Victor was a Blackwood. He was a billionaire from a line of billionaires. He wasn't a lost boy from a border war.
"I’m sorry," Victor added, looking at my mother with genuine empathy. "I wish I could tell you I remember a house like this. But my past is all stone floors and silent hallways."
"It's alright, Victor," my father said, his voice weary. "Someone just found his lookalike, that's all. Vane was right—the mind plays tricks when the heart is tired."
The brunch finally began to wind down. The emotional weight of the day had exhausted everyone. Vane checked his watch, giving me a subtle nod. It was time for Victor to return to the Hill; his medications were due, and the physical toll of sitting up for so long was beginning to show in the slight paleness of his skin.
"Wait," I said, jumping up. "Victor, you asked for the blueberry pies. I have them ready."
I hurried to the kitchen and packed a small lunchbox with the fresh, warm pies my mother had baked. The scent of sweet berries and flaky crust filled the air—a humble gift from our world to his.
We all walked out to the curb. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement glistening like obsidian under the afternoon sun. Vane and Liam were surprisingly civil, shaking hands near the van. Vane’s easy nature had clearly rubbed off on Liam, or perhaps Liam was just too drained to fight anymore.
My mother walked up to Victor’s chair. She didn't say much, but she reached out and squeezed his hand one last time. In her eyes, I could see she was saying goodbye not just to a guest, but to the image of the son she still carried in her heart.
"Take care of yourself, Victor," she whispered.
"I will, Mrs. M. Thank you for the meal. And for the story."
As the luxury van pulled away and Vane’s SUV followed, my parents and Maya retreated into the house to settle Leo and start the monumental task of cleaning up. I stayed on the sidewalk, the custom teddy bear still tucked under my arm.
Liam was standing by his car, his keys jingling nervously in his hand. He looked at me, the orange light of the setting sun catching the gold of the locket still hanging around my neck.
"Elena," he said, stepping toward me. "I’m going to go. I think... I think I’ve overstayed my welcome for one day."
"Liam—"
"No, let me speak," he interrupted, his voice soft and stripped of its earlier bite. "I meant what I said in the kitchen. I’m sorry. For everything. For the way I acted, for the things I said. I see now that the world is changing, and I’m struggling to keep up. But I love you. I’ve loved you since we were seventeen, and I don't know how to stop."
He reached out and touched the ear of the teddy bear I was holding. "I can't buy you archives, El. And I can't look like a ghost from your mother’s past. All I have is me. And I’m going to work on being a better 'me.' I promise. I'll change. I'll be the man you need me to be."
He leaned in and kissed my forehead—a chaste, lingering kiss that felt like a goodbye and a plea all at once. "Happy birthday, sunshine. I'll call you tomorrow."
I watched him climb into his car and drive down the street. I stood there long after his taillights faded, the cool evening air beginning to nip at my bare shoulders. I looked down at the bear in my arms—the impossible gift from a man who shared a face with my lost brother—and then at the gold locket resting against my chest.
I was twenty-three today. I had been given a watch to tell the time, a locket to hold the past, and a bear to reclaim my childhood. But as I turned to go back into my quiet, modest home, I realized that none of those gifts could tell me where I was supposed to go next.
The shadow of Jacob, the fire of Victor, and the steady, crumbling foundation of Liam were all swirling around me, and the only thing I knew for sure was that the "Rainbow" was about to face a storm that no umbrella could fix.