The Turning Point

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - A NEW BEGINNING

Davies

The social worker adjusted his glasses, which kept sliding down his nose, flipping through the file with meticulous, almost mechanical movements. Beside him, the psychologist who had been following my case since I was eight watched closely, her face serious but familiar.

Over the years, I had never answered her questions. Not out of fear, but because I naturally resented people who stuck their noses where they didn’t belong.

Six years had passed without a single person even considering adopting me. The system seemed to have forgotten I existed, and I had made my peace with that. That’s why, thanks to a judge—Eva’s former employer—I had stayed with the Mitchells instead of being sent to an orphanage. But they couldn’t legally adopt me because their income wasn’t considered sufficient. So, the arrangement was simple: I could stay with them until someone else decided to adopt me.

They were the only family I had. But now, there I was, sitting in front of a stranger—someone who, for some unfathomable reason, had decided to take me in.

My hands were sweaty, my shirt clinging to my back, but the discomfort went far beyond the physical. My eyes darted around the room, avoiding everyone, but every now and then, they landed on Eva and Calvin. Eva, with teary eyes, rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. When she caught my gaze, she tried to smile. It was weak, like she wanted to reassure me but couldn’t even convince herself.

“My name is Wallace. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man said, extending his hand toward me.

I looked at his hand. Big, strong, the kind used to hard work. But I didn’t move. After a few seconds, he withdrew it, unfazed, and took the seat in front of me.

“I know this must be overwhelming for you,” he said, his deep voice steady. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I just need you to trust me.”

I didn’t answer. I kept rubbing my hands against my jeans, trying to dry the sweat. My eyes found Eva again, and this time, she squeezed Calvin’s arm lightly. He remained still, his expression serious and protective. They had agreed to be here with me, but that didn’t make it any easier.

As the social worker and psychologist whispered among themselves, my mind drifted. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating, and my hands started to tremble—just like they did whenever Wilson walked through the door.

Finally, the conversation ended, and they left us alone.

Wallace stood up. He was a tall man, his dark skin marked by time, his suit impeccably tailored. The hat he had worn when he arrived rested on the chair. His short, white hair gleamed under the room's light.

He walked slowly to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. For a moment, he stood there, motionless, before gently pulling the curtain aside to look outside.

"Do you like horses?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on the landscape.

I didn’t answer.

"I have plenty of horses and cattle," he continued, now turning his head to look at me. "Have you ever heard of the O’Connor farm?"

I just watched him, not understanding where he was going with this.

"It’s one of the largest and oldest farms in the region. We even have wild animals. Now, you’re one of the richest men in Texas."

"I’m not interested in your money," I said, my voice low but firm.

He smiled—a small, calm smile.

"I know that. But, whether you like it or not, you are. When I die, it will all be yours."

I looked away, uncomfortable. He stepped closer, sitting back down in the chair across from me.

"I want you to accept the comfort I can offer you. I want to teach you everything I know about the farm, about life. You’ll have private lessons at home, and if you need anything—anything at all—just ask."

I hesitated, but the words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Anything?"

"Anything," he confirmed.

"I want Calvin and Eva with me."

"They will be, without a doubt," he replied without hesitation. "I know they’re important to you."

He noticed my nervous hands wiping sweat on my jeans and sighed, leaning slightly forward.

"I’ve lost important people too. All of them. Today, I’m a man alone. There are moments when the loneliness is unbearable. There’s a big difference between choosing to be alone and feeling alone, even when you’re surrounded by people."

He paused and, for the second time, extended his hand to me. I hesitated, but this time, I shook it. His hand was warm and firm, and for a moment, I felt something close to security.

"I can’t call you… dad. I don’t like that word. I’m sorry."

"Don’t worry about that," he said, smiling gently. "How about grandfather? I’ve been a father, but I never had grandkids. If you want to be my grandson, I won’t stand in your way."

I blinked a few times, absorbing his words. He waited patiently.

"How do you prefer me to call you? William or Davies?"

"William. Call me William. Never Davies."

"Alright, William. Now go home. Next week, your life will be different."

I shook my head, still in disbelief. Part of me didn’t believe what he was saying. Another part, though small, wanted to believe.

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