Chapter 2 Hope Amidst the Darkness

Ethan: POV

I stood at the window of my Manhattan penthouse, phone pressed to my ear, watching the city lights flicker like distant stars.

"I hope you can divorce him soon," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "Then we can get married."

There was a long pause on the line.

"Does it need to be so quick?" Jane’s voice echoed with surprise and suspicion.

"I can’t wait to make you my wife." The words slipped out with raw intensity, more than I’d intended.

"We’ve only met a few times, haven’t we?" Her tone carried confusion and wariness. "Why are you so eager to marry me?"

"Sometimes when you look at me, it feels like you’re seeing a ghost. Have we met before? Long ago?"

Her question struck hard. I stayed silent, gripping the phone as buried memories surged to the surface.

"That’s a secret," I finally said. "You’ll know eventually."

Through the phone, I heard the ambient sounds of the hotel lobby—distant conversations, the soft ping of elevators.

When she spoke again, her tone had hardened. "Mr. Quinn, aren’t you worried that marrying a soon-to-be-divorced woman might damage your reputation?"

I leaned against the cool glass, watching a helicopter slice through the night sky. "I don’t care about gossip or rumors. Marrying you would be my privilege."

After we hung up, I lingered by the window, staring at the Manhattan skyline. My mind drifted to memories I rarely revisited.

I was seven when I returned to the Quinn family, but my story began much earlier.

I was only two when I was kidnapped. My parents were arguing, and in that distraction, someone took me.

I had fragmented memories: raised voices, a door slamming, then unfamiliar hands lifting me away.

I was sold to a woman named Amelia, well-dressed but exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and trembling hands.

She became my adoptive mother and brought me to the Miller family estate, a looming mansion. I recall her kneeling before a man in a white lab coat, voice quavering. "I’ve brought our child back."

The man—Donald Miller, my adoptive father—sneered. "So you’ve found him? A good test subject for me."

Amelia flinched before turning to me with a forced smile. "Child, this is your father now."

Donald was a biochemical scientist specializing in cellular research and experimental pharmaceuticals. Whispers hinted at human dissection experiments, though I never saw proof.

"I’ll call you S," he said, eyeing me with cold interest. "You don’t leave without my permission. Understand?"

Even at two, I sensed danger in this man with dead eyes. I nodded, hoping my real family would find me soon.

They didn’t.

The years that followed were a nightmare of pain and isolation.

Donald injected me with experimental compounds, recording my reactions in a leather-bound notebook.

Sometimes my body rejected them violently—dizziness, vomiting, even seizures where I’d collapse, limbs jerking uncontrollably.

When I begged for help, he’d scowl. "If you can’t withstand this, you’re not worthy to be my son."

I prayed for rescue, but no one came. The experiments continued until normalcy became a distant dream.

I saw Donald not as a scientist, but as a monster. Dark thoughts of revenge haunted me, and I feared I’d been corrupted by his evil.

Then, one day, something changed.

I heard laughter—bright, genuine laughter—from the neighboring yard. How long had it been since I’d heard joy?

I crept toward the wall separating our properties, drawn by the sound.

I dragged a stool over, climbed up, and peered across.

What I saw stole my breath.

A little girl danced on paving stones as if they were a grand stage, her gauzy dress floating with the breeze.

Her graceful movements resembled a bird in flight, free and uncaged.

When she finished, she spun toward someone unseen. "Daddy, was that good?" she called, her face glowing with happiness.

I learned she danced in her yard every evening when the weather was fair.

These stolen moments watching her became my sanctuary, a brief escape before returning to my prison.

When I was seven, after a brutal experiment, I lay numb in a garden chair, too exhausted to move.

Suddenly, a kite drifted down, landing beside me. Moments later, the doorbell rang.

No one else was home—a rare occurrence—so I dragged myself to answer it.

There she stood—the dancing girl—looking surprised to see me.

"Hi," she said brightly, stepping inside. "I’m looking for my kite. I saw it fly into this yard."

I picked up the colorful kite from the garden chair and handed it to her.

I tried to smile, though I’d nearly forgotten how. "Here."

She studied me with concern. "You look so sad. My dad says candy makes everything sweeter." She offered a wrapped caramel. "Here!"

I took it uncertainly, my voice rusty. "Thank you."

Before leaving, she asked, "What’s your name? We can be friends now."

I tried to say "Ethan," but isolation had affected my speech. She misheard me.

"Bye, Aiden!" she called as she left.

I didn’t correct her. I was just grateful for a friend. She was a radiant light in my darkest moments.

By then, I’d given up hope of returning to my real family.

I thought they’d forgotten me. I’d once wished for death, but now I wanted to live—to see the dancing girl again, despite what I’d become.

Amelia began spending more time at the house after I turned five, bandaging my wounds from Donald’s experiments.

Sometimes she pleaded with him when tests went too far, earning only his beatings.

At night, I’d hear her whisper, "I’m so sorry."

I wanted to scream: ‘If you’re sorry, why not let me go?’

Then came the day that changed everything. Jane—the dancing girl—knocked on our door.

"Aiden, I’m moving away! Come with us!"

When I hesitated, she pressed on. "Every time I ask about those needle marks, you get nervous. Is someone hurting you? I told my dad, and we want you to come with us."

I froze, torn, and felt a presence behind me.

Turning, I saw Amelia standing there like a ghost.

"I heard everything," she said softly. "I’ve seen you two talking. I haven’t told Donald. Go with her."

"I’ll handle Donald. This was my fault, and it’s time to end it."

I didn’t fully understand, but I knew she offered freedom. "Amelia, I’m leaving," I said.

I followed Jane’s family to Manhattan.

At the airport, Jane pointed at a man holding a photograph. "Look, a missing person poster! Aiden, that boy looks like you!"

The man spotted us and gasped. "Mr. Ethan Quinn? Is that you?"

I stared, stunned to see my younger face on the poster. They were still looking for me!

Soon, a haggard woman rushed in, eyes red from years of crying. "Ethan, it’s really you. Mommy’s so sorry."

I turned to Jane. "These are my real family. I have to go home now. Thank you for everything, Jane."

The memory faded as I turned from the window, Jane’s question echoing: "Why are you so determined to marry me?"

The answer was clear.