Chapter 64

Brian's POV

I stood at my usual spot near the Upper East Side Private Preschool,watching Mom and Lucy from a distance. Lucy was showing Mom something she'd drawn - a butterfly, I think. Mom crouched down to Lucy's level, listening intently as the little girl gestured excitedly. The way Mom looked at Lucy, with such gentle warmth in her eyes, made my chest hurt.

"Your mother received the letter?" I asked Mitchell, our driver, without taking my eyes off them.

"Yes. young master. I delivered it personally and saw her take it inside."

I frowned, studying Mom's expression as she smiled at something Lucy said. "But she looks... normal. Like she never got it." My fingernails dug into my palms. "Maybe she threw it away without reading it."

"Perhaps she needs time," Mitchell suggested carefully.

I barely heard him. Watching Mom with Lucy brought back memories I'd been trying to forget: Mom reading me bedtime stories, her voice different for each character. Mom kissing my scraped knees better. Mom staying up late to help me with projects, even when she was tired from work. Mom always being there, until suddenly she wasn't. The familiar anger rose in my throat. They'd misled me about her. All those times they said Mom was boring and uninteresting, that she didn't know how to have fun, that our family would be happier without her-I'd believed them. I remembered now how Mom used to take extra illustration jobs, working late into the night. I'd thought she was just being boring and serious all the time, but now I understood-she'd been saving money for my future all along. Something caught in my chest as I watched Mom adjusting Lucy's backpack straps with gentle hands. Those same hands used to straighten my collar, brush my hair back from my face...

"Young master?" Wilson's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Should we follow them today?"

I shook my head sharply. "No. Take me back to the car."

Once inside the vehicle, Mitchell studied me in the rearview mirror. "This is unusual for you. Normally at this time, you'd want to watch your mother for a while longer."

"I hate Dad!" The words burst out of me with surprising force. "He and Sarah made Mom seem so boring and unimportant. But they were wrong!Sarah's horrible. They workedtogether to make me think badly of Mom."My voice cracked. "I hate them both!"

Mitchell remained silent, but I could see concern in his eyes as he watched me through the mirror.

"She was saving money for me," I continued, quieter now. "All those times she worked so seriously-she wasn't being boring. She was trying to make sure I'd be okay." I swallowed hard. "We still have our old apartment, don't we? The one Mom and I lived in before?"

"Yes,young master."

"Take me there," I decided. "There's something I need to check." As we drove, I remembered more details about the apartment-how Mom had carefully explained that it would always be mine, no matter what happened. At the time, I hadn't understood why she'd seemed so serious about it. Now I did. My phone buzzed - Dad calling. I stared at the screen for a moment before answering.

"Brian? Where are you? You should be at your usual spot watching your mother by now."

I forced my voice to sound weak. "I'm at the hospital. My stomach really hurts."

"Hospital? Which one? I'll come right away-"

"No!" I interrupted quickly. "I mean... Ms. Taylor is with me. The doctor says it's just a small problem. I'll be fine after some rest."

There was a pause. "Are you sure? I can reschedule my meetings-"

"Please don't." I insisted. "I don't want to bother you. Ms. Taylor will take care of me."

After I hung up, guilt gnawed at my stomach for lying. But I couldn't let Dad interfere-not now, when I finally knew what I needed to do.

The apartment still smelled the same - like Mom's lavender candles and the old books she loved to read to me. Ms. Taylor, my tutor, helped me search through the study while Mitchell checked the master bedroom.

"Young master," Mitchell called after about an hour. "I foundsomething."

In Mom's old closet, behind a panel I never knew existed, we discovered a safe. The combination was my birthday - of course it was. Inside were exactly what I'd hoped to find; property documents, investment account details, and bank statements showing regular deposits Mom had made for years. My hands trembled as I read through the papers. Even after Dad asked her to leave, even when I was cold to her, Mom had kept adding to these accounts, There was enough here for me to live comfortably, to pay for my education, to be independent. "She never stopped thinking about my future," I whispered, more to myself than to Mitchell and Ms. Taylor. "Even when I.., when I was so cold to her..."

Ms. Taylor placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "What would you like to do now?"

I straightened my spine, trying to look as grown-up as I felt in that moment. "I want to live here. Away from Dad and Sarah." I turned to face them both. "Will you help me? I'll double your salaries - I can afford it now. You've both been so kind to me, even when I was... difficult."

They exchanged glances before Mitchell spoke. "Young master, are you certain about this? Your father will be very angry."

"I don't care!" But my voice shook slightly. "I can't stay there anymore,watching them talk badly about Mom. Dad doesn't really want me - he just wants to use me to make Mom feel bad." I took a deep breath. "Please.You're the only ones who've always been honest with me."

Ms. Taylor nodded slowly. "We'll help you. But we'll need to plan this carefully."

As they discussed logistics -what to move first, how to arrange schedules,which stories to tell Dad - I walked through the apartment, remembering.Here was where Mom and I used to have breakfast together. There was where we'd build blanket forts on rainy days. The wall still had marks showing how I'd grown taller over the years.

I stopped in front of my old bedroom. The last time I'd been here,I'd acted cold toward Mom, told her I didn't want to be around her. I'd believed what they said about her being boring and uninteresting. I'd been so stupid.

Tears burned in my eyes as I thought about how Mom must have felt, seeing me act that way. How much it must have hurt when I was cold to her, when I told everyone at school that she wasn't fun to be around.And still, she'd kept adding money to these accounts, kept making sure I'd be taken care of.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered to the empty room. "I'm so sorry."