DOS Ch-225

I looked over at the modest house, about an hour’s drive from my parents’ place. The neighborhood was quite well-off, for a woman who, at one point, had been desperate enough for money to disparage me publicly.

“Are you okay, Troy?” Paolo, my head of security, asked, his tone laced with concern. “We can leave anytime you want.”

The way he kept scanning the area for potential threats made his true worry obvious: my safety if anyone recognized me.

“No,” I shook my head. “I have to do this.”

The reason for my hesitation was clear. I had no idea about Carla’s new family—whether her husband would be okay with me visiting, and most importantly, how Helen would react upon seeing me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before stepping forward and ringing the doorbell. As instructed, my security team discreetly pulled back when the door opened.

“Hey! We were expecting you, Troy.” The ginger man at the door grinned broadly as he offered me a handshake. “I’m Hector Blackwood.”

I raised an eyebrow while shaking his hand. “Isn’t this whole Trojan War theme getting a little out of hand? Hector and Helen?”

He laughed heartily. “You’re one to talk, Troy.”

“I didn’t name myself,” I pointed out.

“Fair enough. Come on in. We can talk inside.”

One look at Hector told me a lot about him. He was slightly shorter than me, an even six feet tall, with an above-average build. Not overly muscular, but far from thin. His red hair was thinning at the front, and laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes. He struck me as the kind of man older women would find appealing: stable, sturdy, and a little boring. In short, a family man.

I immediately knew we’d get along great, if we ever hung out, that is. As we moved through the house, I couldn’t help but admire the interior. It wasn’t nearly as lavish as mine or my parents’, but it clearly wasn’t a struggling household either.

“I hope you’re doing well?” he asked casually. “Your mother was more than anguished to see you collapse right in front of her.”

I nodded silently, not bothering with a verbal response. Had he said the same thing to me a week ago, I might have corrected him—elegantly, of course—that Carla isn’t my mother. But now, it seemed pointless. I suppose age does give you perspective on things that once felt crucial.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do for a living?” I asked as we made our way toward the sitting room.

“I’m a private psychologist,” he replied casually.

“And you still chose to marry Carla?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He stopped mid-step—but only for a moment—before continuing. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? She’s an amazing woman.”

There was a certain passion in his voice that made me wonder if we were even talking about the same person.

He gestured toward the couch and took the seat opposite me. “The kids spilled something in their study room upstairs, so Carla’s handling the cleanup. She’ll be down in a minute.”

“Kids?”

“Helen and Jason. Jason’s my son from my first wife.”

Of course. The Greek mythology theme continued with Jason. I wanted to point it out, but instead said, “If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Leukemia,” he replied bluntly. “She died seven years ago, when Jason was one.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. He gave a grateful nod.

There was a brief lull in the conversation before I remembered what I needed to bring up before Carla arrived.

“Do you know the full history of Carla?” I asked. “The circumstances of her first marriage, and what happened after my birth?”

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Of course. Carla has told me everything.”

“Did she, though?” I asked pointedly. “Did she tell you about the abuse she put me through? The neglect? The drinking? The reckless sex? I doubt that.”

He gave me a sharp look and replied slowly, enunciating every word, “I know everything about her. I’ve read her psych file. Now, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about my wife like that. She is a wonderful wife and a great mother.”

I took a deep breath. As much as I wanted to like this man, I couldn't anymore.

“She... left some deep wounds on me," I said diplomatically, trying not to escalate the situation more than strictly necessary. "I don’t want something like that to happen to another kid, especially not my sister. I run a charity to help abused children build better lives, so this cause is very close to my heart.”

Hector studied me silently, clearly weighing his response. Then he said, “Carla won’t like me telling you this, but she donates a portion of her income to your charity every month. Even the money she receives from the trust fund you set up for her all goes to the same charity.”

I was genuinely surprised. I never thought Carla would hold a steady job long enough not to need my financial support. The fact that she was donating that money was even more unexpected. Sure, plenty of people donate to my foundation now, but most donations are anonymous. Some rich assholes have even tried dangling money to get a meeting with me, but my staff have been trained to shut that down immediately. You invest because you care about the cause, not to meet me.

“She… made some bad decisions,” Hector said after a pause, “but she’s trying to atone for them in her own way. She devotes herself fully to raising the kids—even Jason, who isn’t hers by blood. So please, don’t be too harsh on her. She may have done wrong once, but she’s a changed woman now.”

A small part of me couldn’t help but feel bitter that she would give this much care and attention to a child who wasn’t even her own. Then again, if she had given that attention to me, I wouldn’t be the man I am today.

“I don’t think we can ever go back to being a family,” I confessed. “There’s too much history.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said, conceding. “I’m just asking you to be civil. She’s a fragile woman who’s been through a lot. I don’t want her to regress now, not when we’re so happy.”

I had no intention of disrupting someone’s happy life. As long as Carla stayed civil and didn’t assume we’d go back to being mother and son, I’d do my best to avoid saying anything harsh.

Before I could respond, the door to the sitting room slid open, and Carla walked in, followed closely by the little girl I’d been meaning to meet all along.

She was five, maybe six years old, partially hiding behind her mother. From what I could see, her red hair was tied into pigtails, and a smattering of freckles dusted her nose. She looked so adorably shy that I had to resist the urge to scoop her up into a hug.

“Come on, love,” Carla said gently, pulling the girl forward. “Didn’t you say you wanted to meet your big brother?”

“Hi, Helen,” I greeted her with a grin, giving a small wave.

“Hi, big brother Troy,” she replied shyly, returning the wave. “I’ve seen your film.”

“Oh?” I asked, curious. “Which one?”

“[Harry Potter]!” she exclaimed. “Daddy won’t let me watch your other movies.”

I thought about it for a moment and realized Hector had a point. I hadn’t made many films suitable for kids besides [Harry Potter]. Even then, only the first two movies were tame enough for someone of Helen’s age. Some parents had even avoided showing their kids the second film because of the giant 60-foot snake that gave many kids nightmares.

“I’ll make a movie you can watch with your friends.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” I offered her my pinky, and she quickly wrapped her own around it. The gesture was so sweet, I was tempted again to hug her tight, but I held back.

“So, who told you about me?” I asked Helen, though my eyes flicked toward her parents. Carla had settled into a seat beside Hector and was watching me closely.

“I told her very early on,” Carla answered for her. “I didn’t want to repeat the mistakes I made with you. I half-expected another genius, so it was a bit surprising when she didn’t grasp the weight of what I was telling her. I don’t think she still does,” she added, muttering the last part, but I heard it anyway.

Before I could respond, Helen tugged at my hand and started pulling me toward the door.

“Come with,” she said. “I’ll show you my toys. Mummy says I have to share with my brother Jason. Now, I’ll share with big brother Troy, too.”

I loved how easily she accepted me. Maybe that’s the beauty of a child’s point of view—simple and unquestioning. She was told I was her brother, and she believed it. That was enough.

As she pulled me toward her study-cum-playroom, I couldn’t help but think about how much my earlier conversation had shifted things. When I first came over, I was prepared for the worst. If things looked even remotely bad, I had planned to lodge a complaint against Carla and ask my parents to seek custody of Helen. But now, I couldn’t do that.

Even if we dismissed Carla as a flawed person, there was still Hector. He seemed like a genuinely good man. I didn't necessarily like him, but still, I couldn’t justify taking Helen away from him.

“Helen?” I asked softly. “Is Mummy good to you?”

“Mummy is the best!” she declared, then paused as if remembering something. “Wait—she’s not the best. She scolds me when I do something she doesn’t like. Like when I spilled milk in the study. She said I did it… deli-bate-lee.”

“Deliberately,” I corrected with a smile. “And did you?”

She seemed confused by the question, so I reframed it. “Why did you spill it?”

She gave a little shrug. “I wanted to give Mr. Tickles a bath.”

“With milk?”

She gave me a look. “Don’t you know? Kings and emperors bathe in milk. So does Mr. Tickles.”

I chuckled at her logic. She is a character, my sister.

“Helen,” I asked in a serious tone, “does Mummy ever punish you?” I needed to be absolutely sure.

“No,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “Daddy once put Jason in a timeout when he made Mummy cry, but I’m a good girl.”

By then, we had arrived at her room, where an eight-year-old boy was focused on building a tall Lego tower.

“Jason!” Helen called out brightly. “Meet my big brother, Troy.”

The starstruck look on the boy’s face when our eyes met was all too familiar.

(Break)

“You shouldn’t have gotten them so many presents,” Carla said as I stood near the door. Behind us, the kids were already arguing over who would get what, even before I left.

“It’s the least I could do,” I shrugged. “I would’ve done more years ago… had I known.”

She looked uncomfortable. “I tried to contact you. But I couldn’t reach you. I didn’t even care if it meant you’d stop sending money.”

“Why now?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Because Helen’s getting older. She needed to see her big brother, really see him, at least once. The other kids around her didn’t believe her when she said who you were. And sooner or later, even she would’ve started thinking I made you up. And I know you, Troy. You take care of the people you love.”

“I don’t love you,” I said without thinking.

“I know,” she replied simply, without blinking. “And I don’t blame you. But you did love me once. You looked after me when you were just a child yourself. That tells me everything I need to know about your heart. You're inherently kind, my sweet, sweet boy.”

Her voice broke a little, but she went on.

“You’re so successful today because of that kindness. I’m so proud of you.”

She cupped my face gently between her hands. I didn’t push her away. I turned my gaze from her tear-filled eyes because I knew I was just a breath away from crying myself.

This was everything I had ever wanted in my life—and more. At least in my first life.

Thanks to Richard and Patricia, I had idealized my biological parents to an extreme degree. Once in a blue moon, after drinking too much with a friend, I’d find myself wondering whether my real parents would’ve liked the man I’d become.

I didn’t think they’d be proud of my profession, no traditional parent would be, but this moment, this confirmation, was as close to an answer as I was ever going to get.

A part of me wanted to close the distance between us, to pull her into a hug, maybe even to forgive her for everything she’d done. But at the last second, I stepped back.

“I think I should go,” I said quietly. It was all too much, too soon.

Carla quickly wiped her eyes and called out behind her, “Helen! Jason! Troy is leaving. Come say goodbye.”

The kids came running at me from opposite sides, each wrapping their arms around me in a tight hug.

“Thank you for the gifts, Troy,” Jason said, grinning. “I’m gonna tell everyone what you got me.”

I hadn’t even known Helen had a brother when I bought the gifts. I’d brought so many toys for her that it felt unfair not to share. So, as Paolo unloaded the bags from the car, I told them that half the toys were for Jason. Many of them were on the girlish side, with lots of pink, but the boy didn’t seem to mind one bit.

I ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry, little man. Call me if you need anything else, okay?”

He nodded eagerly.

Then I turned to Helen and hugged her close to my chest.

“I have to go now, Helen.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered, “Can you please come to my school? I want you to meet my friends.”

“The same friends who don’t believe you’re my sister?”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes. Then they’ll believe.”

I gave her an apologetic smile. “I can’t do that, love. I… have work.”

That wasn’t the real reason, of course. The media attention would be insane, especially around children. The paparazzi don’t play fair—and I didn’t want her caught in their chaos. But then, an idea struck.

“When’s your birthday?”

“October 25th!” she said proudly. “I’ll be six!”

I nodded. “How about I come to your birthday party instead? You can invite your friends, and they’ll meet me there.”

Her face lit up as she turned to Carla. “Can we do that, Mum? Please?”

Carla smiled, but put on a thoughtful face. “We can—but only if you’re a good girl and stop spilling milk deliberately.”

“I won’t!” she promised with the utmost seriousness.

I walked out of the place with a big grin on my face.

The day had been a success.

And now, finally, I could focus on finishing the shoot for [The Dark Knight]. I didn’t know if my newly merged memories would have any effect on my acting, but I was more than ready to find out.