Olivia’s POV
I lay in my childhood bed that night, staring up at the ceiling with its glow-in-the-dark stars, and my mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything my parents had told .
*****
"After you were hit by that car," my father continued, "Maxwell was the one who rushed to help you. He and the driver got you into the car imdiately and drove straight to the hospital. He didn’t waste a single second."
I blinked, surprised. That wasn’t what I’d expected to hear. I’d expected to hear he’d run away.
"The doctors started working on you right away," my mother continued softly. "And Maxwell - he didn’t even know our phone number or how to co here on his own. But surprisingly he rembered the way to our house. So he ran all the way there to tell us what had happened."
"He ran?" I repeated.
"He was just a twelve-year-old boy," my father said. "Terrified and crying, barely able to get the words out. But he made sure we knew where you were."
"We got to the hospital as fast as we could," my mother said. "And the doctors told us we were very lucky. That if Maxwell hadn’t gotten you there so quickly, we would have lost you. The impact to your head was severe."
A lump ford in my throat.
"Maxwell heard that," my father said quietly. "Heard the doctors say that you’d almost died because of what happened. And he... he just fell apart. The guilt consud him completely."
"He disappeared after that," my mother added. "We tried to find him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he was gone. Nobody saw him for weeks."
I sat there, processing this.
"Then one day," my father continued, "a letter arrived. Hand-delivered with a package."
He stood up and walked to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved an envelope - old, yellowed with age, but still clear.
He handed it to .
Inside was the deed to the beach house. And a letter in handwriting that was unmistakably younger, shakier, but still recognizable as Maxwell’s.
I read it silently:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hopton,
I know this doesn’t make up for what my family did to yours. I know nothing can give back what was taken. But this beach house belongs to you. It should have never been taken in the first place.
I’m sorry for what my father did to Kennedy. I’m sorry I was too scared to speak up when it mattered. I’m sorry Olivia got hurt because of .
I know you probably hate , and you have every right to. But please know that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make this right.
I’m so sorry.
Maxwell Wellington
Tears blurred my vision as I stared at the letter.
"He sohow convinced his father to give back the beach house," my father said, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know how he did it. Don’t know what it cost him. But he did it."
"The letter touched us deeply," my mother said. "We could see how much guilt and pain that young boy was carrying. We forgave him right then and there. Forgave everything that had happened."
I looked up at them. "You forgave him?"
"How could we not?" my father said gently. "He was just a child caught in his father’s cruelty. And he tried - really tried - to make ands for sothing that wasn’t even his fault to begin with."
"When Kennedy went off to boarding school," my mother continued, "you were struggling. The mory loss, the recovery, everything. You were moody and withdrawn. So we sent you to stay with your aunt for a while, hoping the change of scenery would help."
"And that’s when Maxwell ca back," my father said. "He ca looking for you. Wanted to see if you were okay, wanted to try to explain everything. But you weren’t there."
My heart clenched.
"His father sent him away to boarding school too, not long after that," my mother said. "Far away. We think it was punishnt for getting the beach house back for us."
"And every ti he ca back ho," my father added, "you were always sowhere else. Visiting relatives, at sumr camp, later at college. Your paths just never crossed again."
I sat there, the letter still in my hands, my mind reeling.
"So he’s been looking for ," I said slowly. "All this ti. Since we were children."
"It seems so," my mother said softly.
I thought about everything Maxwell had done. Every single thing. It was like there were two different Maxwells, and I didn’t know which one was real.
"He never told any of this," I said, my voice breaking. "When he found , when he hired , he never said ’Hey, rember ? We knew each other as kids. I’ve been searching for you for twenty years.’ He just... played gas with ."
"Maybe he didn’t know how to tell you," my mother suggested gently. "Maybe he was scared you’d hate him if you rembered."
"I don’t know what to think anymore," I admitted, pressing my palms against my eyes. "I don’t know what’s real and what’s manipulation. I don’t know if he actually loves or if this is all so twisted ga to him."
My parents were quiet for a mont.
Then my father said, "Only Maxwell can answer that, sweetheart. But I will say this - that boy who returned our beach house, who made sure you got to the hospital in ti, who searched for you for years... that doesn’t sound like soone playing a ga."
I wanted to believe that. God, I wanted to believe that so badly.
But trust was such a fragile thing, and Maxwell had shattered mine so completely.
Maxwell’s POV
I drove back to my mansion that night feeling like my skin was too tight, like I might explode if one more thing went wrong.
The guard at the gate took too long to open it.
"MOVE!" I shouted through the window, and he jumped so badly he nearly dropped his clipboard.
I drove through the driveway, tires screeching, and slamd out of the car hard enough that the door bounced back before catching.
Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet.
One of the staff - Maria, I think, though I could barely focus enough to register faces - stepped into the foyer as I passed.
"Mr. Wellington, would you like to prepare so..."
"No." The word ca out harsh. "I don’t want anything. Just... stay out of my way."
I heard a door creak sowhere down the hall - one of those old hinges I’d been aning to have fixed but never got around to - and the sound scraped against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
"WHO’S MAKING THAT NOISE?" I bellowed into the empty house.
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