Monday morning began like any other — but for Sahir, Eliya, and Rivan Jr., it was a mission.
Their alarms buzzed before sunrise. Bags packed. Uniforms on. Shoes laced.
They ate breakfast quickly, kissed their parents goodbye with straight faces, and waved as if heading to school.
But the second Loira and Keal turned the corner in the car, the three kids sprinted to the next street, where a bus waited. They weren't going to school.
They were going to the villa.
The journey was long and quiet. None of them spoke much.
When the villa came into view — all sleek walls, high hedges, and iron gates — a strange feeling settled over them.
Excitement. Fear. Hope.
They crept to the side wall and boosted each other over. The far window, slightly cracked, became their entry. One by one, they slipped in.
No alarms.
No voices.
No staff.
Just silence.
"I think he's alone," Sahir whispered.
"Let's move fast," Eliya said.
They crept through the halls like spies.
The villa wasn't empty — it was personal.
First, they found Rivan Jr.'s room. A small, sunlit space, freshly painted green. Stuffed toys sat lined along the shelf, a new backpack in the corner. The bedspread had his name stitched in silver thread.
A card sat unopened on the desk:
"Happy 10th Birthday, Rivan Jr. — I hope one day you'll forgive me for all the ones I missed."
Rivan Jr. pressed his palm to the fabric. "He made this… just for me."
The next room had Sahir's name on a plaque.
Dark blue walls, a telescope by the window. On the shelves: wrapped boxes marked with dates and ages.
"Sahir – Age 8"
"Sahir – Age 11"
"Sahir – Age 13 – Saturn Puzzle"
Dozens of gifts. Never opened.
Photos hung on the wall — Sahir in kindergarten, Sahir reading, Sahir playing chess. Rivan had been collecting them for years.
In Eliya's room, the walls were soft lavender. Ballet shoes sat beside the dresser — still her size. Glittery notebooks filled the shelf. Every birthday had a box.
"Eliya – Age 9 – Storybook collection"
"Eliya – Age 14 – Music box"
A framed photo sat by the mirror — Eliya sleeping in class, arms across her desk, hair in two tight braids.
"How did he even get that picture?" she whispered.
Each of their rooms had them frozen in time.
Watched. Remembered. Loved.
Then they found the master bedroom.
A large bed made with precision. On top were two oversized pillows — custom made, shaped like Loira and Keal's faces, smiling.
Eliya froze. "Are those…?"
Sahir blinked. "That's next-level heartbreak."
And at the foot of the bed, a dusty box:
"Loira – Anniversary 1, 2, 3…"
"Keal – For every birthday you never let me miss."
Years of unopened gifts.
Years of silence wrapped in ribbons.
Then they heard a voice.
Soft. Cracking.
Coming from the kitchen.
They tiptoed down the hall — and froze behind the doorframe.
Rivan Elisar stood by the stove, talking softly to two cardboard standees — life-size cutouts of Loira and Keal, propped against the pantry.
"I know they look different now," he said to them. "Sahir's taller than I imagined. Eliya's got your eyes, Loira. And the boy… Rivan Jr…"
He wiped his nose. "He smiled at me."
"I don't deserve it. But I'd give everything for one more moment with them. One real moment."
He didn't know they were watching.
Until Sahir stepped forward.
"If you love us so much," he said, voice sharp, "why did you betray them?"
Rivan froze.
Then turned.
The color drained from his face when he saw all three kids standing there — school bags slung over shoulders, their eyes blazing.
"I…" he stammered, "I thought… if everything belonged to me, no one could leave."
"I was scared," he whispered. "So I made everything mine. But I lost you anyway."
Silence.
Then he bowed his head.
"I'm sorry."
His voice cracked again.
"I was wrong."
Rivan Jr. didn't hesitate.
He ran forward and threw his arms around his father.
"I love you anyway," he whispered.
Eliya followed, tears in her eyes. Sahir joined last, pressing his forehead to Rivan's shoulder.
"You're burning up," Sahir murmured.
"You're sick," Eliya added, touching his face. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Rivan smiled weakly. "Didn't want to waste the moment."
The kids helped him to the couch.
They cooked — scrambled eggs, toast, tea. Sat beside him while he took medicine. Wrapped him in blankets. Played old music on his phone.
They laughed. For the first time.
Before leaving, Rivan said, "I don't want anything else. Just you."
Sahir replied, "You'll have us."
"And maybe," Eliya added, "you'll have them again too."
They got home an hour late.
Keal met them at the door. "You're late."
"There was a practice match," Sahir said quickly.
Loira looked skeptical but didn't press.
Something in their kids' faces was different.
Something peaceful.
And hopeful.
They had seen the truth.
Now… they just needed to bring the rest of the family home.
---
The house had settled into its usual nighttime rhythm — lights dimmed, soft hum of the fan spinning above, and the distant chirping of crickets beyond the windows.
But Loira Darien couldn't sleep.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling, her fingers laced tightly across her stomach. Beside her, Keal was just as awake, his back turned slightly toward her, but his breathing too shallow to be restful.
"You're not asleep," Loira finally whispered.
"No," Keal replied, voice low. "You neither."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Loira turned onto her side, facing him in the dark. "Did you notice anything… strange today?"
Keal let out a quiet breath. "They were quiet. Too quiet."
"Sahir lied," she said softly. "There was no practice match on the school schedule. I checked."
Keal turned to look at her, brows knitting. "You think they skipped school?"
"I think something's changed," she whispered. "The way they looked at us. Like… they were holding something back."
Keal nodded slowly. "Rivan."
Loira didn't reply, but the silence was enough.
"They've been restless since he came," he continued. "I keep catching Rivan Jr. looking out the window like he's waiting for something."
"And Eliya's been scribbling in her notebook like she's planning something," Loira added. "They're hiding something."
Keal reached for her hand under the sheets. "They're curious. We never told them the truth."
"I know," she murmured. "But it's more than curiosity now."
"They're not little anymore," Keal said. "They're starting to write their own story."
Loira closed her eyes. "I just hope it doesn't break them the way it broke us."
And in the dark, between unspoken fears and quiet hearts, both of them held on—unsure if the truth would set their family free… or tear it apart again.
---