The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 27: A Fragile Reunion

Six months later...

Months passed like a blur for Kyzzu, confined to the small cottage. His cold illness had seeped into his bones, a constant and painful reminder of his frailty. Every attempt by Winston to find a doctor to cure Kyzzu of his illness had proven futile, as his condition worsened with time. His faintly glowing marks which travelled from the palm of his hands to the place he conceived his child dimmed, as if it was fading away.

The revelation that Winston was none other than Alfie, the person who haunted his past as Keith, had left him reeling, unable to speak to the man who abused him, in two lifetimes. No matter how deep he thought of it, he couldn't get over it completely.

Meanwhile, Kazi had grown into a strikingly beautiful child. His obsidian curls and black eyes mirrored Winston's, but in the shape of his siren-like eyes, one could trace Kyzzu's softer features.

  However, Kazi wasn’t familiar with Kyzzu. He had been raised in Winston’s mansion, far from the cottage. Winston showered Kazi with affection, and his older half-brother Aethel had become fiercely protective of him.

  Aethel, at the tender age of six, often stood up for Kazi against the curious whispers of the household staff and the unspoken judgments of the world outside. The bond between the brothers was pure, a testament to the innocence of childhood that flourished amidst the complications of their family.

Maryanne, Winston’s noble wife, had given birth to her second son, Winston's third son, Theodore, just two months ago. Her vibrant presence in the mansion had since faded to a mere shadow. The betrayal she felt from discovering Winston's affair with Kyzzu had broken her spirit. Now, she spent her days in near isolation, caring for her newborn but rarely showing her face to the household. Whenever she looked at Kazi, the child born of Winston’s infidelity, bitterness surged within her. His existence was a constant reminder of the fracture in her once harmonious life.

Winston's love for all his sons was undeniable, though Kazi held a unique place in his heart. The boy, a reminder of past mistakes and complex emotions, had become a focal point of Winston's affections. He watched Kazi grow, recalling the thrill of his first smiles, the way his tiny hands would grasp Winston’s fingers, and the way he would coo softly, filling the room with joy. Kazi was a living reminder of love and loss, a child who deserved all the affection he could give.

One overcast afternoon, as Kyzzu lay in the dimly lit cottage, tears dried on his cheeks, the sound of an approaching carriage pulled him from his thoughts. His chest tightened as Winston stepped out, cradling Kazi in his arms. For the first time since Maryanne had taken Kazi away, Kyzzu’s heart faltered, and emotions long buried surged to the surface.

Winston stepped inside and gently set Kazi on the floor. "Go on," he urged softly, his voice careful, as though navigating a fragile situation. "Go say hello to your mother."

Kazi hesitated, casting a wary glance at Kyzzu. There was uncertainty in his wide, curious eyes—eyes that some how resembled Kyzzu’s own, though they held none of the familiarity a child would normally have with a parent.

Kyzzu watched his son’s hesitant movements, a pang of sadness coursing through him. His mind flashed back to the moment when he had first felt Kazi kick, to the hours of labor that had drained him, and to the moment when Maryanne had taken the infant away. He had told himself he didn’t care—had tried to bury the bond—but it had never truly disappeared.

Kazi shuffled his feet but didn’t move closer. He looked up at Winston, then back to Kyzzu, as if seeking approval or direction. Kyzzu’s voice, when it came, was quiet, almost brittle. “Why are you here, Winston?”

“I wanted you to see him,” Winston replied, his tone soft but insistent. He remained where he was, watching carefully, as if the situation might fracture at any moment. “He should know you… and you should know him.”

Kyzzu swallowed, eyes fixed on Kazi. The boy looked at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. There was no recognition in his gaze, no sense of connection to the person he was supposed to know as his mother. It stung more than Kyzzu had expected.

Kazi spoke then, his voice small, uncertain. His voice still carried the babyish cute pronunciations, and in English, his first language. “Are you… my mama?”

Kyzzu felt his breath catch in his throat. The question was so simple, but it hit like a blow. He wanted to reject this child, he wanted to shun him away, but deep down inside, he couldn't.

“… I am.”

Kazi blinked, his little hands twisting the fabric of his shirt. He took a tentative step forward, but then stopped again, clearly unsure. “Papa 'said… you were sick” Kazi mumbled, his eyes darting to Winston as though seeking confirmation.

Kyzzu nodded again, his voice strained. "I am…"

There was a long, heavy pause, the air thick with tension. Kazi shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to approach Kyzzu, his small body tense with unfamiliarity. Kyzzu’s heart ached as he watched the boy hesitate, realizing just how much of a stranger he was to his own child.

“I don’… know you,” Kazi admitted quietly, his voice laced with a kind of innocent confusion that cut deeper than Kyzzu anticipated.

The truth of it was painful, but Kyzzu couldn’t deny it. “I know,” he whispered.

Kazi tilted his head, considering this for a moment. He then looked back to Winston, who nodded encouragingly.

“I’ll try,” Kazi said simply, his small voice wavering, but honest.

A silence followed, and Kyzzu could feel the weight of that small promise lingering between them, fragile but important. Kazi took another small step forward, closing the distance just a little more.

  He didn’t throw himself into Kyzzu’s arms like a child longing for reunion. Instead, he stood a few paces away, uncertain but willing to bridge the gap, even if just a little.

Winston, watching the quiet interaction, stepped closer to Kyzzu. His expression was conflicted—softened by the scene before him, yet filled with a deep regret. “Kyzzu,” he said, voice low, “he needs you.”

Kyzzu’s gaze flicked to Winston, a mixture of anger, sorrow, and something unnameable twisting in his chest. “take him away,” Kyzzu replied, his voice trembling. “I had let him go for a long time, he doesn't need me anymore."

Winston didn’t answer immediately, but the weight of his presence filled the small room. After a long moment, he knelt beside Kazi, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “go to him,” he said softly, his eyes meeting Kyzzu’s. “he's still your mother.”

Kazi looked between the two adults, his small face a picture of innocence caught in a world too complex for him to fully understand. He didn’t move any closer, but he didn’t step back either.