The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 26: The Weight Of Choices

A/N
Hey everyone! We've finally hit 1K views! 🎉 We’re so happy and grateful for your support. It wasn’t easy typing everything out on my phone and dealing with a few setbacks, but it’s all been worth it.

I’ve got 15 more drafts ready, and after discussing with my editor, LadyAnuelle, we’ve decided to release 6-7 new chapters today and tomorrow each. So, get ready to binge-read! 📚

Thank you so much for all the views, votes, and comments — they truly mean a lot to me. 🙇🙇

P.S. our exams are just around the corner, so things might get a bit messy! 😅

_____

.

Months later...

The winter had passed, but the chill remained inside Kyzzu. His body, still weak from illness, refused to heal with the arrival of spring. He had long since stopped counting the days, and though the world outside was beginning to bloom, Kyzzu felt trapped, both physically and emotionally.

   The weight of the past few months pressed heavily on him, smothering any spark of hope. There were nights he cried, though he had stopped wondering if anyone would hear him. Each tear was a silent acknowledgment of the isolation that had become his life.

He thought often of Ethan, his son, but not seeing him had become a sort of protection. The child was better off, he told himself, away from the fevered, restless nights that had overtaken the small cottage.

   The bitterness toward Winston had grown like a seed planted deep within him, nurtured by every day of silence, every moment of abandonment. The man who had once brought him to this world was now a stranger—a ghost haunting the edges of Kyzzu's life.

---

Winston's Mansion...

In contrast, Winston's home bustled with life. Aethel, the happy five-year-old, ran through the halls, his laughter filling the mansion. The boy was overjoyed by the prospect of his baby brother, and another on the way. Maryanne’s pregnancy had become more pronounced, and she had grown distant, locking herself in her boudoir, focused entirely on the child she carried.

Winston saw less and less of her. Their relationship had grown strained, frayed by the weight of unspoken grievances and silent resentments. Her retreat into isolation had left Winston feeling like a stranger in his own home. He avoided thinking about Kyzzu, but the young man always lingered at the edge of his thoughts, a constant reminder of the choices Winston had made.

Now, Winston found himself buried in his work, using it as a distraction from the turmoil in his personal life. He sat at his desk, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a document outlining the latest trade agreements with the East India Company.

  The war with France had disrupted much of the usual flow of commerce, but Winston, ever the opportunist, saw potential where others saw chaos. The burgeoning textile industry promised untapped wealth, especially with the looming demand for military supplies and uniforms.

Yet, as much as Winston tried to focus, his mind kept drifting back to Kyzzu—the pale, fragile figure he had left behind in that small, cold cottage. The last time he had visited, Kyzzu's hatred had been palpable, the air between them thick with unspoken anger. Winston had avoided returning since then, knowing that each visit would only widen the rift.