His name was Nathaniel

23

The grand Donovan mansion, with its imposing walls and long, echoing hallways, was often a place of silence. But in the past, it had been filled with music and laughter—a life that now seemed like a distant memory.

Five-year-old Nathaniel sat on the floor of the grand living room, his small legs crossed as he played with a set of wooden blocks. The afternoon sun poured through the tall windows, casting a warm, golden light across the room. But what truly filled the space was the sound of the piano, a melody that drifted through the house like a comforting embrace.

His mother, Elara, sat at the piano, her slender fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. She was a vision of beauty, her long, dark hair cascading down her back, her eyes filled with a warmth that Nathaniel adored. The music she played was soft, melancholic, yet soothing—a piece that seemed to come from a place deep within her heart.

Elara glanced over at Nathaniel and smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Do you like the song, my love?" she asked, her voice as gentle as the music she played.

Nathaniel looked up from his blocks and nodded, his eyes wide with admiration. "It's pretty, Mama," he said, his voice small but sincere.

She continued to play, the notes flowing effortlessly from her fingertips. To young Nathaniel, his mother was a source of light and love, the one person who made the large, often intimidating mansion feel like home. The time he spent with her, listening to her music, was his favorite part of the day.

But as the years passed, the music in the mansion began to change. The lively, joyful pieces that once echoed through the halls became slower, more somber. Nathaniel didn't understand at the time, but his mother's illness had begun to take its toll.

It started gradually, with Elara tiring more easily, needing to rest after just a few minutes at the piano. Nathaniel would often find her lying on the couch, her eyes closed, as if she were trying to gather the strength just to sit up. He would sit beside her, holding her hand, and she would smile at him, though her face seemed more pale and drawn with each passing day.

One night, the sounds of arguing drifted through the mansion, waking Nathaniel from his sleep. He had grown accustomed to the raised voices, but this time, something felt different—more desperate. His small feet padded silently across the floor as he made his way to the top of the grand staircase. From there, he could see the hallway leading to his father's study, where the argument was taking place.

Elara stood in the doorway, her face pale and drawn, her hands trembling as she tried to reason with her husband. "Edward, please," she begged, her voice thick with emotion. "You're tearing this family apart. You're hurting our son."

Edward Donovan, tall and imposing, stood rigidly behind his desk, his expression one of cold detachment. "I'm doing what needs to be done, Elara," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "You're too emotional to understand the pressures I'm under."

Elara's eyes filled with tears, but she stood her ground. "You're pushing us away, Edward. You're losing your family."

Nathaniel watched from the shadows, his heart aching with confusion and fear. He didn't fully understand what was happening, but he knew that his mother was sad, and that made him sad too.

Eventually, Elara noticed him standing there, her tear-filled eyes widening in surprise. She quickly wiped her cheeks and forced a smile, though it was clear that her heart was breaking. She walked over to Nathaniel and knelt down beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"It's okay, Nathaniel," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Everything's going to be okay."

But Nathaniel could feel the tension in her body, the unspoken truth that things were far from okay. As the weeks went by, Elara's condition worsened. She spent more time in bed, too weak to play the piano or even sit up for long. Nathaniel would bring her flowers from the garden, trying to make her smile, but it was clear that the illness was draining her spirit.

The doctors came and went, offering little hope. Edward, too, became more distant, burying himself in his work and spending less time at home. When he did visit, the conversations with Elara often ended in heated arguments, their voices carrying through the mansion.

One evening, after a particularly fierce argument, Nathaniel crept into his mother's room. She was sitting up in bed, her eyes red from crying, but she smiled when she saw him. He climbed into bed beside her, curling up against her frail body.

"Mama, are you going to get better?" he asked, his voice trembling with the fear he had been too afraid to voice before.

Elara wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. "I'm trying, my love," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm trying."

But Nathaniel could feel her slipping away, and it terrified him. The once-vibrant woman who had filled the house with music and laughter was fading, leaving behind a shell of the mother he had known. The illness was relentless, and despite her best efforts, it claimed her in the end.

When Elara passed away, the light in the mansion seemed to dim. The piano sat silent and unused, a reminder of the happier times that had slipped away. Nathaniel was left alone in the cold, oppressive silence of the house, his father growing more distant and unreachable.

Back in the present, far from the Donovan mansion, Adaliya was deep into her research on Mr. Donovan. Sitting at the small desk in her bedroom, her laptop open in front of her, she scrolled through countless articles, old newspaper clippings, and documents she had managed to dig up. The more she read, the clearer the picture became—a man consumed by power and control, willing to do whatever it took to maintain his iron grip on those around him.

She had found fragments of information about Mr. Donovan's personal life, particularly his relationship with Elara. The tension in their marriage, the rumors of her trying to escape, and the gradual, severe illness that took her life all painted a troubling picture. Adaliya couldn't help but worry about the influence Mr. Donovan still held over Nathaniel, and what might happen if their plan to free him didn't succeed.

But despite the fear gnawing at her, Adaliya was determined to see this through. She had to stay strong, not just for herself, but for Nathaniel. The knowledge she had gained could be crucial in helping him escape his father's grasp, and she wasn't going to let anything stand in their way.

As she closed her laptop and prepared for bed, Adaliya's thoughts lingered on the memory Nathaniel had shared with her about his mother. Elara had been a beacon of light in his dark world, and Adaliya vowed to honor that memory by ensuring that Nathaniel had a chance at a better, freer life—a life where he could finally escape the shadow of his father and forge his own path, free from the chains of the past.