“Even though Mr. Burns was born into a prominent family, his life was not easy…” Atonal’s words barely caused Elisa to tug at the corner of her lips, hardly noticeable from the side. Hamish may not have had it easy, but compared to others, he had it better from the start, never lacking in food and clothing, born into privilege. Was it really considered a difficult life?
Take Louis, for instance, mistakenly switched at birth and raised by the Burns family, becoming a servant’s child, enduring daily beatings and training, licking blood from the edge of a blade, and when necessary, even standing in for his employer in facing death.
Atonal, unaware of Elisa’s subtle emotions, continued, “His parents left when he was young, and the situation in the Burns family is not like that of an ordinary household. He has long been in a dangerous place, with a sensitive disposition, lacking a sense of security, deprived of love… Perhaps he has done something inexcusable in his memory that you cannot accept, but I believe the young master still has deep feelings for you. After all, you are the first woman he brought back.”
Deprived of love-she had heard this term not for the first time. Tobias had said similar words, earnestly advising her to forgive Hamish, saying he didn’t understand love. Using a lack of love as an excuse to harm others-where did that courage come from? When all was said and done, the innocent became the aggressor and the victim became guilty.
Thinking, Elisa couldn’t help but sarcastically remark, “A person in their thirties still lacking love; should I let him call me ‘mom’ so I can love him properly?”
As soon as these words left her mouth, Atonal was stunned. He had not expected the well-mannered girl before him, who had just been so polite, to suddenly become so sharp-tongued.
The mockery on Elisa’s face burst out without disguise, cold and sharp like a knife in her beautiful eyes.
Atonal was momentarily speechless, sensing that his own words had angered her, but what had he said? Just a few casual remarks, yet it was clear that Elisa’s anger was not directed at his words, but at him.
Elisa was dissatisfied with Hamish.
At that moment, Hamish emerged from the bathroom. Coincidentally, as soon as he appeared, he heard Elisa’s remark about being a mother to him.
The awkward atmosphere was broken by Hamish. Atonal changed the subject, noticing Hamish’s pallid complexion, and asked with concern, “Mr. Burns, are you feeling alright? You look quite pale.”
Hamish, with a colorless face, replied, “I’m fine, just feeling a bit under the weather due to the cold.”
Atonal was somewhat worried, “Well, that’s perfect, I’ll have the kitchen make some ginger soup for you to drink later. Resting for a while should help. The temperature has dropped quickly in Chiwood recently; it’s cold. If your condition doesn’t improve, we might need to call a doctor.”
“I understand. Thank you, Uncle Atonal.”
Compared to the others in the Burns family, Atonal seemed more like Hamish’s family.
Hamish had been rebellious, fighting with his own brothers, engaging in hidden battles, fights resulting in bloodshed, even making Old Burns spit blood. Being punished, standing in the corner, kneeling on a bench, being locked in a dark room without food was a common occurrence.
Only Atonal would take care of him. He would secretly stay by his side and talk to him, bring him bread when he was locked in a dark room without food, and after his parents’ death, he would teach him the ways of life, preventing him from becoming a ruffian. He often spoke to him about his parents.
“Not at all, it’s what I should do.” Atonal, leaning on his cane, went back to the kitchen. He really couldn’t relax, so he secretly left someone to keep an eye on them after leaving, to prevent the two from quarreling.
Hamish and Elisa hadn’t quarreled. One looked cold, the other expressionless. Hamish patted the nonexistent dust off his thigh and sat on the sofa opposite Elisa.
The cough from earlier had caused a dull pain in his chest, and he picked up the teacup in front of him and took a sip of hot tea, which somewhat eased the dull pain. The taste of lung cancer was not as bearable as stomach cancer. It would cause pain to the point of coughing up blood. In the late stages of lung cancer, even breathing would become torture, the chest swelling as if there were a balloon inside, ready to burst at theslightest prick.
Hamish was accustomed to enduring pain. Even if he was riddled with pain inside, he remained silent, his expression unchanged, as he said to Elisa, “I heard you saying you want to be my mother as soon as I came out.”
Elisa was momentarily speechless, quiet for a moment before saying, “Everyone keeps saying you lack love.”
“I don’t lack love.” There had been someone who loved him as their life, loving him for a full four years, filling the void of love in his life. He truly didn’t lack love, but unfortunately, he had repaid kindness with enmity, hurting the person who loved him the most.
Elisa looked calmly into Hamish’s eyes. Based on what she knew of him, she had expected him to be angry, to lash out or even raise his hand at her. She hadn’t expected him to be completely indifferent, treating her words as a joke.
Elisa suddenly felt bored and uninterested. She stood up, looked upstairs, then outside, hesitated for a moment, and finally walked out.
As she reached the door, a strong force pulled her back, slamming her back into someone’s embrace.
“Where are you going?”
“Out for some air.” Elisa tried to pull her hand away, but her face fell, “Let go.”
“It’s cold outside. Don’t go out. I’ll take you upstairs.” Hamish pulled Elisa, guiding her into the elevator and up to the third floor.
As he glanced back at Elisa’s pale face, Hamish asked, “Why are you so irritable? I didn’t even get angry when you said you wanted to be my mother.”
Elisa remained silent, allowing Hamish to lead her to a room.
“You’ll stay here tonight. Rest well. Tomorrow, I’ll take you somewhere.”
Elisa asked, “When will we return to Bankshire?”
“After we go to where I said, we’ll return to Bankshire.”
He not only planned to return to Bankshire but also intended to let her go.
Suddenly, Hamish’s gaze darkened with a bitterness that was difficult to understand. He released her hand.
The room was left to Elisa. It was a room where Hamish had slept before, decorated according to his preferences. The decor was cool and gray, with dim lighting, making it seem like twilight even in the middle of the day.
After Hamish left, Elisa opened the curtains, but the light didn’t seem any better.
She glanced around the room. It was spacious and well-equipped, connected to a study. It was clear that it was cleaned every day, with no dust present. The books on the shelf were somewhat old, clearly left there for a long time.
Her eyes carefully scanned every inch of the room, the floor, the bookshelves, the cabinets, the desk, the bed… Every corner seemed to subtly reveal traces of Hamish’s past life there.
She noticed a photo album on the shelf. Taking it down and opening it, she found mostly pictures of Hamish, with ages written underneath, from his first month all the way to his seventh birthday, and then there was a gap.
Hamish had indeed been a handsome child from a young age, resembling a delicate porcelain doll. His eyes at that time didn’t carry the same sense of danger as they did now; they held a hint of innocence, like black grapes.
In the photos, Hamish played with building blocks, did homework, drew, and built with Lego, always earnest and solitary.
Clearly, he didn’t like being photographed, as he never looked at the camera and rarely smiled. As he grew older, his expression became stiffer, and by the age of seven, he seemed like a block of wood, the light in his eyes gone.
At seven, Hamish lost his parents.
Elisa returned the photo album to its place and sat on the edge of the bed. In a corner by the head of the bed, there was a simple drawing-a silhouette of a couple holding a child’s hand, with a small line of blurry, childish handwriting underneath. Despite its blur, Elisa recognized it immediately.
“Mom, Dad, Hamish misses you.”
The vertical part of the wall near the floor showed clear signs of mold erosion. If the floor remained damp for too long without proper maintenance, it would become moldy.
Elisa looked at the patch of mold, feeling absent-minded. In her mind, she pictured a seven- or eight-year-old child, curled up in a corner, silently shedding tears, a scene of sobbing.
Closing her eyes, Elisa pushed these thoughts away, took out her phone, and tried to access the internet. Perhaps due to an abundance of messages, her phone lagged for a moment.