Xavier~
What the hell is she doing? How could she flirt with him?
My body boiled with rage when I saw the screenshot of James' chat with Bella that he shared with me. Every word between them hit me like a fresh wound, a constant reminder of how far she had moved away from me.
I was scrolling through Bella's Facebook feed, eager to learn more about Alan, with the burning need to unearth the truth, igniting my every move. Learning that Alan was five years old deepened my suspicion that he was my son, yet with each realization came an ache I could barely endure. Every look, every habit Alan had reminded me of the boy I'd longed to raise.
I planned to question her about Alan's exact age, but her anger compelled me to leave her car. How could I hold back when I felt the truth so close—yet every sign from her pushed me further from the answers I needed?
What was the source of her anger? I now understand that this was a ploy to divert my attention.
I was disappointed when I didn't find any of Alan's photographs in her profile. She didn't post any personal information on Facebook; she solely posted updates about her career accomplishments. I clicked on her friend list to see who she was friends with, but I couldn't find anyone I knew, not even Victor, on her list.
Her recent addition to her friend list surprised me. She added James William to her list of friends, surprising me. I am well aware of James' tendency for flirting, and his courtroom flirtation with Bella already gave me a sense of his level of attraction to her.
Why did she add him as her friend? When the notification buzzed on my phone, I saw a screenshot of Bella and James' conversation. How could she chat with him at midnight? Did she forget that she is already married to my younger brother and has a child?
No, I don't believe she married Victor, as I didn't see any engagement ring on her finger or their pictures together when I visited her house. However, to the best of my knowledge, Victor does not have a girlfriend, and I have never seen Bella with another man, suggesting that their marriage was a covert one.
Another possibility is that she had a covert affair with Victor before our divorce, during which she became pregnant with his child.
No, that's not a possibility. It's absurd to think of her in that way. Even in my drunken state, I vividly recall that it was her first time, so I can't question her dignity. I will never forget the experience of holding her in my arms. She too responded to my kiss that day in a mixed way; one moment, she tried to oppose me, and the other moment, she responded to my kiss. If she commits to Victor, then I am sure she will never kiss me.
I was overwhelmed with a plethora of questions, so I sought solace in whisky to calm my mind. She had already warned me not to approach her or Alan, so even if I wanted to question her about Alan, I couldn't confront her. Victor never exhibited any interest in speaking with me despite my repeated attempts to do so. I desperately want to live with Bella and Alan. As I mourned my traumatic life, I slept on the floor.
The following morning, driven by my desperate need to know, I resolved to uncover the truth about Alan's birth. First, I visited his school. I could feel each hesitant step weighed down by a dread that I wouldn't be able to handle what I found—or worse, that I wouldn't find anything at all. Even after I informed her that I was Alan's local guardian, her school principal blatantly refused to divulge any personal information about him.
I was contemplating alternative sources for Alan's birthdate when I remembered the address of the doctor's clinic she had visited yesterday. However, the nurse there also declined to provide me with any information.
Desperation filled my veins as I saw every door closed, including the one where I knew Alan's birth date. I didn't want to test our DNA, but I had no other option, so I went back to my room and started looking for Alan's hair or fingerprints on my belongings.
The sweeper had already cleaned my room, making it difficult to find anything, but after much searching, I finally found his hair on my couch. Before sending our hair for the DNA test, I was terrified.
What if Bella was speaking the truth and he isn't my son after all? What if he is my son and Bella was hiding this truth from me?
I drove my car back to my hotel room after the doctor told me that I would receive a DNA report in three days. I was bored in my hotel room and considered resuming my legal profession. Earlier, Alan came to play with me, but after he burnt his leg, Bella forbade him from visiting me. No firm wants to hire me as a lawyer even after I get a clean chit from Alicia's murder case.
Even though I don't want to, I was considering relocating back to my house because my savings are already on the point of going bankrupt. I've already lost all confidence in myself and feel demotivated after receiving so many rejections.
I steered my car to the right side when a car abruptly overtook it.
"Can't you see? What the hell?" I yelled to the car's driver, but due to the closed window, my voice didn't reach him. I glanced at the car's number and considered reporting the driver to the police, but I halted when I realized it was Victor's car number.
Where is he going in such a hurry?
His car disappeared before I could approach him. I followed him to find out why he was in such a hurry, but I was unable to locate him. A few minutes later, I saw his car return in the same direction, but this time, a man with a blood-stained head accompanied him. Victor took care of the man's bleeding head while driving.
Who's that man, and why is Victor so concerned about him? I followed him in my car. He stopped his vehicle in front of a hospital and took the man into an emergency room. I silently observed Victor's every move, but my composure broke when I heard their conversation.
"Will you explain what's going on here?" I demanded, my voice filled with the kind of fury I usually worked to hide. Victor's face paled upon seeing me standing right there, his hand frozen in mid-air as he tended to the bleeding man.