48. Cary

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Clara Carter

The boy is the last person I expected to see. But here he is. The reduced distance between us allows me to focus on his facial details. Those eyes-calm but bright-are just like my brother's.

His toothy gleaming smile sterns a sad feeling in my heart. Why did I have to ignore such an innocent and kind kid while all he did was forward a sense of humanity?

"Hi." I say, swallowing past a lump in my throat. My voice comes out hoarse from the tears I've been holding back.

His soft smile turns into a full-fledged grin.

"Hi, Clara!" he exclaims as he waves his hand at me.

In his blue full-sleeved T-shirt underneath a white jacket and white pants, he looks adorable yet fashionable, with sunglasses tucked in the V of the T-shirt, which is definitely not his by the looks of it, and his hair perfectly framing his round face.

Someone has taken excellent care of the boy's wardrobe.

Christopher cuts me off before I can put one and one together.

"Why don't you show Grandma your new drawing, Cary?" Chris suggests him.

"Oh, yes. Of course, how could I forget?" Cary says as he rolls his eyes. "I'll show you the drawing too, Clara."

I nod and wait for Cary to leave the room. I rise to my feet and cross my arms over my chest. Christopher shrugs, his hands tucked in his pockets.

"You've got some serious explanation to do, brother."

"I know," he says, coming to hold me by my shoulder. "Let me start with the current question you might be having."

He exhales and continues, "Cary, the boy you just met, is my son."

The first bomb dropped. I knew it in the back of my mind.

"You mean, Mae and your son?"

"Yes."

"And everyone knew about this son?" I spit in rage at my brother's lack of enthusiasm to tell me about it all. At the very least, I'm certain of his unmarried status. Christopher has moved to a new apartment that is closer to his workplace in Aerilon. I never got the chance to visit him so it's given why I was unaware of Cary's existence.

A guilt-stricken expression spreads on his face. "Yes."

"Since?"

"The first time Mae came to our house."

I scoff, remembering the first and last time I saw Mae.

"You mean when Mae stormed into our house with her goons and guns?"

Christopher scoffs this time. "Come on, Clara. You don't have to be this mad."

Then I risked asking the question that was bugging my mind since forever.

"Why am I always the last one to know, Chris? What is it about me that everyone wants to tell me everything at the end?"

I attempt to prove my point through my gaze.

"God, Clara. I'm sorry. I didn't know that it would hurt you so badly."

He hugs me, running his hand over my head in a failed attempt to calm me down. Maybe I'm overreacting to the situation, but I don't care at this point. I need to get it all out of my system before the nagging strings in my head take over.

"I'm sorry, Chris. I overreacted," I admit, breaking the comforting hug. I try to bring excitement in my words to cheer him up, as I say, "Tell me. I want to know everything from the beginning, about you and Mae, about my nephew."

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