Chapter 5

Erica stood by the small brick house, her breath quickening with every passing second. The home she had once cherished as a child now looked strange. It's welcoming warmth replaced by an unwelcome stillness. The white paint was peeling from the wooden wall, and the small garden her mother had so carefully tended was covered with weeds. 

The memories of this place rushed at her like a tidal wave—her mother humming as she trimmed the roses, the scent of freshly baked cookies coming from the kitchen, and the sound of her own laughter echoing through the halls. But those days were long gone, replaced by uncertainty and fear.

Pushing through the gate, Erica went to the front door. Her hand paused just before the brass knob, stained with the passage of years. Her heart pounded uncomfortably against her rib cage as she yelled, "Mom?”

The door creaked open, revealing a dim interior covered in dust. The air was suffocating with the smell of abandonment. Erica went inside slowly.

“Mom?” she called again, louder this time. Her voice echoed faintly, but there was no response.

The kitchen was her first stop. It looked frozen in time, exactly as she remembered it—except lifeless. Rows of once bright yellow curtains hung flat and pale, the counters covered in a fine dust. 

She went into the room next door, where the furniture was covered with white sheets, sweet promises of a past when life was simple at home. Erica lifted the sheet that covered the couch and exposed the hidden floral design underneath. The distance to the bedrooms hallway felt farther than she thought it should, every step getting her one step closer to a reality that she hadn't yet been ready for. Her mother’s room was the last on the left. 

Erica pushed the door open, her breath hitching at the sight.

The bed was tidy, just as her mother had always done. A framed photograph rested on the nightstand—a picture of the two of them at her high school graduation. Erica took it and her fingertips caressed the glass.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she forced them back. She couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Gently laying the photograph on the table, she walked around the room looking for anything that might serve as a clue. But there was none. There were no of fight signs, nor any clue where her mother went.

Her mind drifted back as she thought back to the months following her coma. She had learned that her mother’s surgery—a procedure that she had spent years saving for—had been paid for in full during her absence. But by whom? The question had haunted her ever since, and her inability to contact her mother, only deepened her unease.

Now, standing in the empty house, another, darker thought crept into her mind.

What if Asher had something to do with this?

Her chest tightened painfully at the thought. She refused to accept it, but since Asher had betrayed her, broken her family, even attempted to murder her, did it really sound that crazy?

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she took a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. She couldn’t afford to jump to conclusions without evidence.

Later that afternoon Erica went to Whitfield Enterprise partnership for a meeting. She fastened her blazer and straightened her posture, her countenance a mask of calm composure.

But beneath her composed exterior, her thoughts raced. Questions about her mother floated in her mind, and the weight of her suspicions about Asher pressed heavily on her. She couldn’t let him know how close she was to unraveling the truth—not yet.

Caleb, the attendant behind her, sprinted to catch up with her quick stride as they moved into the boardroom. But today, Erica wasn’t alone.

At her side walked a small boy, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. Ben's brilliant blue eyes scanned the room inquisitively, and his wild brown hair swished back and forth as he moved about. He wore a crisp shirt and trousers, his small shoes making a gentle squeak on the polished floor.

The executives seated around the table exchanged puzzled glances but remained silent. Caleb, in his professional way, only nodded to Erica before sitting down.

”Good afternoon," Erica said, her voice calm as she led Ben to a chair in the corner of the room. 

“This is Ben. He’ll be sitting quietly during today’s meeting.”

Ben looked up at her, his small face serious. “I’ll be quiet, I promise,” he whispered.

Erica smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I know you will, sweetheart.”

Erica smoothly assumed her responsibility. She asked tactical questions, made sharp observations, and steered the discussion with ease. However, concentrating on what she wanted she could not escape the feeling of Asher's eyes on her back.

He was sitting at the opposite end of the table, his eyes penetrating and calculating. Though his expression remained neutral, Erica could sense the questions swirling behind his composed exterior. She maintained her own eye contact on the talk, not eye contact with her abuser.

However, his gaze did not flicker—neither away from her, nor from Ben.

The boy sat quietly in the corner, engrossed in the coloring book Erica had handed him before the meeting began. He hummed gently to himself as he worked, his small legs moving under the chair.

As the meeting wound down and the executives began gathering their materials, Asher remained seated. His gaze swept to Erica as she stood up, retrieving her notebook and notes with the familiar grace.

“Who is he?”

The question, quiet but firm, made Erica freeze. She moved slowly to face Asher. 

“Who?” she asked, though she knew exactly who he meant.

Asher's eyes glanced for a moment to Ben, up to Erica. “The boy. Is he—”

He paused for only a second, then stammered as if he wasn't sure he wanted to end the question. 

Erica's beating heart hammered in her chest but she would not acknowledge it. She raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “What are you trying to say, Asher?”

His darkened eye sockets slightly, jaw clenching as he leaned forward. “Is he my son?”