Chapter 126

Chapter 126
Darren's POV

I push my sister-in-law's wheelchair along the shaded path of Pine Grove Retreat, my steps measured and unhurried. She can walk, but it's easier to transport her this way. Despite years of mental deterioration, Ophelia's beauty remains hauntingly evident beneath her gaunt features.

"Ophelia," I say softly, stopping her wheelchair near the edge of a short flight of stone steps. "Do you have any idea what your precious son has been up to lately?"

I crouch beside her, adjusting my gold-rimmed glasses with deliberate precision. My smile doesn't reach my eyes as I study her vacant expression.

"Instead of focusing on running Hayes Enterprise like he should, he's obsessively investigating Kenneth's death." I lean closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Some things are better left buried, don't you think?"

Ophelia doesn't respond to my words. She clutches a small fabric pillow to her chest, her thin fingers stroking it rhythmically. "Rhett... Mommy's little Rhett, don't cry..."

I can't help but laugh softly. "Twenty-five years in this state, and you never mention my dead brother-in-law, yet you remember your son perfectly. Fascinating how the mind works."

Standing, I position myself behind her wheelchair, my hands gripping the handles firmly. The wheelchair's front wheels hover precariously over the first step of the staircase.

"Sister," I say, my tone conversational, "it would take just one small push, and you'd tumble down these steps. Your beloved son has already lost his father. Imagine his reaction if he lost his mother too."

"Uncle?"

The deep, languid voice makes me tense momentarily. I glance up to see my nephew approaching, hands in his pockets, his casual stride belying the sharp intelligence in his eyes.

"When did you get back to Boston?" Rhett asks, his tone deceptively relaxed. "You should've called. I would've picked you up."

I smoothly transition into the role of concerned uncle, positioning myself beside Ophelia and carefully wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief.

"Just arrived this morning. Had to stop by the police station to assist with their investigation." I look up at Rhett, affecting concern. "I heard about Thomas Smith. Never imagined someone working at my charity for so many years could be involved in such repulsive activities. My judgment failed me."

I study his impassive face. "Rhett, why didn't you tell me you were investigating your father's death? I wouldn't stand by while my nephew puts himself in danger. If you'd informed me sooner, I could have helped you identify this Smith character much earlier."

Rhett's gaze flicks briefly to Ophelia before settling on me. "The investigation involved your charity, Uncle. I didn't want to worry you."

"Always tackling major problems on your own," I chuckle indulgently, taking away the dessert Ophelia had been eating. "Classic Rhett."

The moment I remove her treat, Ophelia becomes agitated. "Give it back! Give it back to me! I want more!" Her voice rises with each word as she clutches her pillow tighter, then hurls it at me. "You're mean! Give me back my cake!"

I restrain her hands, explaining patiently, "You've had enough, Ophelia. The doctor said you've been refusing meals. You can't have any more sweets."

She ignores my explanation completely, attempting to stand from her wheelchair to grab the dessert box. "Give it back! I want it! I want it now!"

My usually immaculate appearance suffers as she tugs at my tie. Protecting the dessert box, I finally snap, "I said no more!"

My raised voice startles her into immediate tears, her cries echoing through the garden.

"Your mother's emotional state has been deteriorating," I tell Rhett, straightening my disheveled appearance. "I brought her favorite dessert from Chicago, and now she's having a meltdown. She's increasingly childlike these days."

Rhett observes the scene with unreadable eyes. "How thoughtful of you to remember her, Uncle, despite your busy schedule."

"Kenneth made me promise to look after her. We're family, after all." I approach him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You were only four when her condition began. You didn't grow up with her, so your distance is understandable. But regardless, you're all she has left, Rhett. Remember that before you take risks. If something happened to you... what would become of your mother?"

Our eyes meet, both of us concealing thoughts the other can't decipher.

Before Rhett can respond, Ophelia shrieks, "Mean! You're mean!" She points an accusatory finger at me. "Don't steal my cake! Give it back!"

I sigh, instructing the caretaker behind Rhett, "Take her back to her room to rest."

"Mrs. Hayes, shall we go upstairs?" the caretaker asks gently.

"No!" Ophelia shouts, snatching the dessert box from the caretaker's hands. "You bad woman! Don't steal my cake!"

Clutching her prize, Ophelia giggles triumphantly. She points at me, "Mean!" Then shifts her finger toward Rhett, "You're mean too!"

"You're all mean!" she declares venomously before turning and running away.

I watch her retreating figure with a practiced look of resignation. "She doesn't even recognize you now."

"After twenty-five years, did you expect improvement?" Rhett responds indifferently, turning to the caretaker. "I apologize for my mother's behavior. She has... special circumstances."

The caretaker nods respectfully. "It's perfectly fine, Mr. Hayes. Thank you for your concern. I should get back to my duties."

"I have appointments to keep as well," I say, checking my watch. "Stay a while with your mother." I pat his shoulder once more before walking away, feeling his eyes follow me until I'm out of sight.