Patient B-2

Chapter Eighteen: Avalyn

 As time seems to freeze, my mouth falls open, my throat growing unbearably dry as I gaze in disbelief at the woman before me. A memory resurfaces, demanding attention at the forefront of my mind. It was one of the rare occasions when Wrath felt comfortable enough to share his past with me— moments like those were scarce, so the memory remains vivid in my mind.

 "What was her name?"

 "Jea—"

 Jeannette.

 My throat tightens as I swallow hard, fighting to keep my composure amidst the shock of the revelation. It's almost too much to believe. Could this really be her? The thought seems implausible. After all, she hasn't been part of his life since he was thirteen. It feels surreal to think I'm sitting across from Wrath's mother by chance. But as I meet her gaze, a sense of connection washes over me, a familiarity that I can't deny.

 They share the same eyes.

 Sitting across from Jeannette, her laughter fills the room, a warm melody that dances in the air. "Oh, my dear," she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she catches sight of my bewildered expression. "Was it something I said?"

 "Your last name is Wrathton?" I inquire, needing to confirm what I've just heard.

 She nods solemnly, her gaze piercing mine. "Yes. Jeannette Wrathton."

 Struggling to find the right words, my question bursts out in a jumble. "A son...do you... do you have a son?" I manage to choke out, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

 She inhales sharply, a mirrored reflection of my own rising distress. Her lip trembles, mirroring the turmoil within me. I bite down on my bottom lip, a desperate attempt to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "How did you know?" Her words escape her lips in a breathless whisper, caught off guard by my question.

 "Because he's alive," I stammer out hastily, inching forward within my confines to better convey the urgency of my message. "Your son, Lucius? He's alive. I know him."

 Tears stream down my cheeks uncontrollably, defying any attempt to suppress them. Despite the lingering bitterness towards the man who betrayed me and shattered my heart, a different sentiment now washes over me. Empathy floods my soul for the boy who lost his mother, craving an explanation he never received. He carried the pain of her abandonment for centuries, a burden that weighed heavily upon him, when in truth, it likely wasn't her choice at all. She had been here all along, locked away just as he once was, a prisoner of circumstances beyond her control.

 "He's alive?" she breaks down, her tears mingling with mine as she presses herself against the cell bars, her hand reaching out for mine.

 I mimic her actions, leaning forward to bridge the gap between us, our fingers intertwining through the narrow spaces of the cell bars. "He's alive," I affirm softly. "He spoke of you. He's still every bit deserving of the nickname you bestowed upon him."

 I reminisce about the moment he first opened up about her, and how he shared the origin of his nickname with me. Back then, I never imagined I would be face-to-face with the woman who brought him into this world, let alone knowing of her existence before he did.

 Admittedly, this complicates things for me. If I manage to escape this place, Jeannette will undoubtedly seek to reunite with her son. I can't bring myself to ask her to keep my existence hidden from him. It wouldn't be fair, and it's not her burden to bear. That secret belongs to me alone.

 I'll have to speak to them again.

 It's something I never intended to do, or perhaps, was too paralyzed by fear to confront. It feels selfish, especially when it concerns Sophie, but the need to escape consumed me. The first time I realized I could flee without the constant dread of being captured, it felt like a weight had been lifted. I was exhausted, and the prospect of starting anew ignited a flicker of hope within me. But now, I can't continue this path any longer.