THE BOY WHO COULD BEAR AN HEIR

Chapter Two: The Day Everything Changed

Four years ago. That was how far back Lucien had to go to reach the memory.

 It came to him in pieces, like shattered glass scattered across time.

Some parts sharp, others hazy. He never knew why the memory felt like that - broken.

Like someone had taken a blade to his mind and cut out the pieces that mattered most. He was thirteen the day he woke up in the hospital. Alone.  

 The rain was gentle the day Lucien woke up in the hospital. It tapped quietly against the windows, like someone too polite to knock. He blinked into the harsh white light above him, unsure where he was or how long he'd been there.

His body felt heavy. His head ached. There were bandages wrapped around his arms. A sharp sting throbbed in his side. He didn't remember getting hurt. He didn't remember anything.

 He turned his head slowly. Machines beeped beside him. A bag of fluid hung from a stand. There was no one sitting at his bedside. No flowers. No warm faces waiting with smiles. Just silence and the dull hum of machines. He thought maybe his mother had stepped out. She always brought him warm soup and tucked him in when he was sick.

Maybe Cassian had gone to get juice or chips from the vending machine. Surely his father was just outside, speaking with a doctor. But no one came that day. Or the day after.

He lay in that hospital bed for a full week, watching the nurses come and go. They were kind, but distant.

They didn't talk to him much. He heard whispers outside his room, words like "trauma," "amnesia," and "he's lucky to be alive." Lucien didn't feel lucky.

He felt forgotten. The day he was released, a driver came to get him.

Not his father. Not Cassian. A man in a black suit who said nothing during the long ride home.

Lucien stared out the window, watching buildings blur into fields. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his chest.

When they reached the Ainsworth Estate, it was quiet. Too quiet.

The usual staff weren't at the door. No one welcomed him back.

The house looked the same - tall pillars, grand staircase, golden chandelier - but it felt like a museum. Cold. Empty.

He walked through the halls alone, his footsteps echoing.

He found Gerard Ainsworth in the study, seated behind a large mahogany desk. Lucien stepped inside slowly.

"Father?" His father didn't look up from his papers.

"You're back." Lucien hesitated. "Where's... where's Mom?"

The air in the room changed. Gerard finally looked at him.

His eyes were sharp, unreadable. "She's dead." Lucien's legs went weak. "What...?"

"You were in the car too," Gerard said, voice flat. "Don't you remember?"

Lucien shook his head. "No. I don't."

His father stood, pushing the chair back. "Then consider yourself lucky."

He walked past Lucien without another word, leaving the boy frozen in place.

That night, Lucien cried for the first time in years. He searched for Cassian.

 The maids told him his twin was sent to boarding school abroad. No phone call. No letter.

Just... gone. Lucien wandered into his mother's room the next morning.

It hadn't been touched. Her scarf was still on the armchair.

Her perfume lingered faintly in the air. On her vanity sat a photograph - Lucien and Cassian as toddlers, both holding her hands.

He reached for it, and his hands trembled. Everything had changed, and no one had told him why.

He went through her drawers, trying to find something. A letter. A clue. Anything.

But all he found was a locked journal. And a small pendant she used to wear - shaped like a crescent moon.

Lucien held it tightly in his fist. Over the next few years, he was pushed further into the shadows. He was forbidden from attending events.

He ate alone. He was tutored separately. And Gerard - his father - never spoke to him unless it was to belittle or strike him.

 Once, Lucien asked the old gardener, Mr. Poe, what had really happened to his mother.

Mr. Poe only looked at him with sad eyes. "Some truths are buried, boy. And those who dig them up don't always survive."

So he stopped asking. But he never stopped wondering.

Why had his father grown to hate him so much? Why couldn't he remember the accident? What happened that night when his mother died?

Lucien carried those questions like stones in his chest. He kept the pendant hidden beneath his shirt, the only thing left of her.

On quiet nights, he held it close, whispering to it like a prayer.

 "I miss you, Mom." And in his heart, something unanswered always whispered back.

~~~

A soft knock pulled Lucien out of the memory. He blinked, realizing he was still sitting at the edge of his bed, holding that silver chain Cassian gave him that morning.

 The maid came in, informing him to help out with the preparation of the party. And then, she left. Lucien closed his eyes, swallowing down the ache that always followed that memory.

No matter how many years passed, it still felt like he had lost everything without warning. His mother. His place in this house. And maybe even... himself