It had been five years, three months, and four weeks since you last saw Mattheo—the night everything shattered. His gaze, his words, the ache that followed still haunted you, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

He swore he wouldn’t become his father, clinging to the promise like it could hold him together. But fate had other plans. Slowly, inevitably, he slipped into the shadows, down a path you couldn’t follow—no matter how much you loved him.

So, you left.

No goodbyes. No letters. Just a packed bag, a heavy secret, and silence where he used to be.

Life was quiet now. Simple. Most days, you liked it that way. The chaos you once knew felt like a distant storm you’d finally outrun. Tonight was no different—just you and your son, curled up as the last streaks of sunlight faded through the windows. His small frame leaned into yours, warm and safe.

You let him watch his favorite cartoon while you read, the low hum of the television filling the room. It was a bad habit, but tonight he hadn’t wanted a bedtime story.

“And now, live from Riddle Manor…”

Your heart stopped.

The announcer’s voice sliced through the quiet. You looked up, pulse quickening. For a second, you thought you misheard—until his name followed.

Your hand fumbled for the remote, panic rising like a tide. You had to turn it off—now. But before you could, the screen flickered, and his face appeared.

Mattheo.

Colder than you remembered, his sharp features framed by the grand, shadowed backdrop of Riddle Manor. Like seeing a ghost step out of the past.

“Oh! Mama, look!”

Your son bounced beside you, eyes bright and fixed on the screen. "He looks like me!" he grinned, pointing at the television.

You froze, staring at Mattheo’s face—and the small boy beside you. The truth you’d hidden for five years stared back, undeniable.