The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 29: Silent Sorrows

Hours later...

The carriage rattled softly as it rolled through the moonlit streets, the sound of the wheels turning providing a steady rhythm to the quiet of the night. Inside, Winston sat with his son Kazi on his lap, the little boy's head resting heavily against him. He had kissed Kyzzu earlier before he left. Though it was fleeting, he tried his best to convey his feelings.

Kazi's eyelids drooped with the drowsiness that always came after a long day, but he fought sleep, his small body shifting occasionally as he tried to engage Winston in conversation.

"Papa," Kazi murmured, his voice barely audible, muffled by sleepiness. "Papa... why... why your 'air... always so smooth?"

Winston smiled faintly, his large hand stroking the semi-tight curls on Kazi's head, feeling the soft texture of the boy's hair beneath his fingers. "Not smooth, son," Winston replied gently. "Your hair, like this, is better. Stronger."

Kazi furrowed his little brow, as if trying to understand but finding it beyond his comprehension. His English was still lacking, his words jumbled and broken, but Winston understood him. He always did. "But... Papa's hair not like mine... mine too... too much curl."

Winston chuckled softly, the sound deep and soothing, a rare warmth in his voice that he reserved for moments like this, for Kazi. "You'll see one day, Kazi. You have the best of both of us. You're strong."

Kazi shifted again, this time nuzzling closer to his father's lap. He mumbled something incoherent as his small hand rested against Winston's thigh.

"Mama. . ." The warmth of the boy's little body felt oddly comforting to Winston, who found peace in these fleeting moments when the rest of the world-its chaos, its cruelty-seemed far away.

The night pressed on, and before long, the carriage pulled up to the grand gates of the Winston Mansion. The tall iron gates opened with a creak, revealing the sprawling estate beyond, bathed in the silvery light of the moon.

The manor loomed ahead, its windows dark save for a few flickers of candlelight from the upper floors. By now, most of the household had settled for the night, except for the faint echoes of servants preparing for the next day.

Winston, with the precision and care of someone accustomed to handling fragile things, gently scooped Kazi up in his arms. The little boy barely stirred, too deep in sleep now to be fully aware of the world around him.

Winston carried him close, feeling the soft rise and fall of Kazi's chest as he breathed in the rhythmic pattern of sleep. The child's small hands clung loosely to Winston's shirt, as if seeking security even in his dreams. This was his habit since he was just few weeks old.

Inside the mansion, the faint smell of lavender and wood greeted Winston. He moved quietly through the grand hallways, avoiding the gaze of the few remaining servants as he made his way to the children's quarters. There, he entered the room shared by Aethel, their eldest son, and Ethan-Kazi's English name, given by Winston himself.

In the soft glow of the candlelight, Winston carefully removed Kazi's day clothes, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to wake the boy. He pulled the soft nightwear over Kazi's small frame, the boy's body limp with sleep. Once Kazi was settled in bed, Winston leaned down, pressing a light kiss on his forehead before tucking the blankets around him.

Just as Winston was about to leave, he heard a familiar voice behind him, soft and quiet, but heavy with the weight of unspoken things. "He's beautiful, isn't he?"

Winston froze for a moment, recognizing the voice instantly. It was Maryanne-his wife, the woman he had shared so much with, and yet, recently, they had spoken so little.

The weeks of silence between them had stretched unbearably long, but there she stood now, at the doorway, her pale blond hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders, her blue eyes reflecting the soft light from the hall. She held their youngest son, Theodore, in her arms, the child fast asleep against her chest.

Winston glanced back at Kazi, his gaze softening for a brief moment. "Yes," he replied quietly. "He is."

Maryanne stepped into the room, her presence filling the space in a way that felt both familiar and distant. Her eyes lingered on Kazi for a moment, then drifted toward Winston.

"He looks so much like you," she said, her voice low, but there was no warmth in it, only a sad kind of acknowledgment. "Like a darker, smaller version of you."

Winston's eyes flickered to her, searching for something in her expression, but her face was carefully guarded. He nodded. "He has your heart," he murmured. "Your kindness."

A brief silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of the months that had passed without real conversation. Maryanne adjusted Theodore in her arms, her gaze now focused on the little boy. "And Theodore," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "What about him? How will he be raised?"

Winston took a deep breath, sensing the shift in her tone. "Theodore will be trained, as we've planned," he said, his voice steady, though there was an underlying tension. "He'll learn everything he needs to know."

Maryanne's gaze grew distant, her eyes still on Theodore but her thoughts clearly elsewhere. "Trained," she repeated, almost bitterly. "To become what? Another version of you?"

Her words stung, but Winston remained calm, choosing not to engage in the argument that lingered beneath the surface. He knew better than to provoke her now. "To be prepared," Winston said, his tone measured. "For the world he'll have to face."

Maryanne's eyes flickered with emotion, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned her attention back to Kazi, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, her gaze softening as she looked at the boy who shared so much of Winston's features. Then, without another word, she left the room, carrying Theodore in her arms.

Winston watched her go, a heaviness settling in his chest. He lingered in the children's room for a moment longer, his thoughts clouded by everything unsaid. Finally, he left, heading to their bedroom, his footsteps echoing softly in the darkened halls.

By the time Winston entered the matrimonial bedroom, Maryanne was already in bed, her back turned to him. She wore a light, floral nightgown, her soft feminine form outlined beneath the blankets.

She lay still, as if asleep, but Winston knew her better than that. He could sense the tension in her body, the way her shoulders seemed slightly hunched, as if she were bracing herself.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, his eyes tracing the curve of her back, the way her long, blond curls spilled over the pillow. For a long time, he said nothing, simply sitting there in the silence, gathering the words he needed to say.

"I'm sorry," Winston whispered finally, his voice barely above a breath. "For everything."

Maryanne didn't respond. She remained silent, her body unmoving, but Winston knew she was awake. He could feel it. He leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, the barest touch of his lips against her skin. "I'm trying," he added quietly. "I'm trying to make things right."

Still, there was no response.

Winston sighed softly, laying back beside her. The distance between them felt vast, an ocean that he didn't know how to cross. But for now, he would give her the space she seemed to need, hoping that one day, maybe, things could be mended.

On the other side of the bed, Maryanne lay still, her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness. Her chest tightened as she fought the tears that threatened to spill.

The words Winston had spoken, the apology he had offered-it wasn't enough. Not yet. The hurt ran too deep, the wounds too raw. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep, but the tears came anyway, silent and hot against her cheeks.

And so they lay there, side by side, yet worlds apart, each carrying the weight of their own unspoken grief, their own silent hopes.