Chapter 149: A Change of Heart
The cemetery was eerily quiet, the only sound the mournful rustle of wind. Galatea’s phone rang incessantly in her bag, but she didn’t hear it. Her focus was entirely on the graves before her—those of Brennan and Mom Storm.
Mom Storm had passed away early, and Brennan had always said he wanted to be buried next to her when his time came. Despite his tragic death, Brennan had found solace in being laid to rest alongside her.
“I’m sorry, Brennan,” Galatea whispered, her voice breaking. “For not showing respect sooner, for not coming to see you until now.”
She knelt before the gravestones, gazing at the photographs on the tombstones. Brennan’s smiling face, preserved forever in the stone, struck her with unbearable pain. Seeing that smile again only deepened her grief.
Her mind echoed with Ambrose’s words: “Brennan, you didn’t commit suicide, did you? You couldn’t bear to leave me, could you? Who really hurt you?”
For so many years, Galatea had struggled with this question. She had resented Brennan for leaving her—leaving her in debt, desperate, and orphaned. It had never occurred to her that Brennan might not have taken his own life.
Now, as she knelt before his grave, her heart ached with the realization that Brennan hadn’t died by his own hand. Someone had pushed him to his death.
The thought of what Brennan must have felt in his final moments—helpless, in pain, and full of regret—was almost too much for her to bear.
“I’m sorry, Brennan,” Galatea sobbed, covering her face with her hands. “It’s my incompetence. I couldn’t save you.”
Her grief was a hundred times worse than when Brennan had first passed away. She had been blind to the truth for so long. Seven years had passed since Brennan’s death, and yet the killer was still free.
Galatea had never known the murderer’s identity, and she had even blamed Brennan for his own tragic fate.
Her phone rang again—Alaric’s number flashed on the screen—but she didn’t answer. She was too consumed by her sorrow to even notice.
Meanwhile, Alaric was at his office, and his phone rang once more. This time, it was Silas on the line.
“Mr. Alaric, do you need to reschedule the 2 p.m. meeting?” Silas asked, checking in as Alaric had not yet arrived.
Alaric glanced at the time. “No need. I’ll be there soon,” he replied, quickly hanging up.
It was midday, and Galatea was likely busy with the renovations or perhaps resting. When she did fall asleep, it was like a log—nothing would wake her. Alaric decided to let her rest and put the phone down, heading to the office.
Back at the Knight family villa, Mrs. Marigold had just arrived. She stormed into the villa and immediately demanded, “Where is Caspian?”
The servants hesitated, unsure how to respond. They knew Mrs. Marigold had mistreated Caspian in the past, and now, with him injured, they were worried she might harm him further.
“Why are you all silent? Where is Caspian?” Mrs. Marigold’s voice grew more insistent. It was the weekend, and Caspian wasn’t at school.
“Mrs. Marigold, Caspian is injured and currently asleep in his room,” one of the servants finally answered.
Mrs. Marigold’s face softened with concern. “How did Caspian get injured?”
“We’re not sure of the cause, but he has a fracture,” the servant replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
The words struck Mrs. Marigold like a blow. “How painful that must be! Will Caspian have any lasting effects? My poor, poor grandson! How could this happen to him?” Her voice shook with emotion as she stormed toward Caspian’s room. “You fools, how could you let this happen? If anything happens to Caspian, I’ll make you pay!”
The servants exchanged confused glances. Mrs. Marigold, who had always been cold and dismissive toward Caspian, was now showing concern for him.
She reached Caspian’s room and saw him lying peacefully in bed, his face serene despite the pain he must have felt. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes as she gazed at him.
“Caspian, my poor grandson,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “It’s my fault. All this time, you’ve been by my side, and I didn’t even know you were my flesh and blood.”
Tears streamed down her face as she stroked his hair, her hands trembling with guilt and sorrow.
She remembered Alaric’s words—the spiritual connection between a biological father and son. He had known Caspian was his son without needing a DNA test. But she, Mrs. Marigold, had never shared that bond with her own grandson. She had failed him in so many ways, neglecting him and dismissing his suffering.
It was all her fault.
“I know I was wrong, Caspian,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I’ll take better care of you from now on. I swear I’ll make it right.”
As Mrs. Marigold spoke, she gently touched his face. The soft movement roused Caspian from his sleep. He stirred, discomfort flashing across his face as he quickly sat up.
“Ouch!” he cried out, wincing in pain as he moved.
“Did I touch you where it hurts?” Mrs. Marigold asked anxiously, her hands shaking. “What are you feeling? Doctor! Doctor!” she called out, panicked.
“Mrs. Marigold, please don’t call the doctor. I’m fine,” Caspian replied quickly, trying to stop her.
But the doctor arrived soon after, and Caspian was examined carefully. He was asked to remove his pants so the doctor could check the injury, though Caspian was still a young boy and understandably uncomfortable with the situation.
“What were you doing just now?” Caspian asked, his voice suspicious. “Were you trying to strangle me while I was sleeping?”
Mrs. Marigold froze, stunned by his question. “No, Caspian! I would never—I’m just worried about you!” she stammered, trying to reassure him.
Caspian was unconvinced. “You used to curse me, and now suddenly you care? If I had died from the fall, wouldn’t you have been happier?”
Mrs. Marigold’s eyes filled with regret. “I was wrong, Caspian. I was deceived. I believed you weren’t my grandson, and I treated you horribly because of that.”
Caspian’s brow furrowed. “Wait, you really thought I wasn’t your grandson? And that’s why you treated me badly?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Marigold admitted, tears welling up again. “I was deceived by the lies.”
“Well, now I’m your grandson again?” Caspian asked, his voice cold.
“Yes,” she said, nodding with conviction. “It’s in the DNA results. You are my grandson.”
At her words, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath Caspian. The shock of her admission left him speechless.