Watching the raw pain distort her father's expression, Alexandra felt her own heart twist with sorrow. But she couldn't stop—not now.
"Dad," she said gently, her voice strained with emotion, "do you remember how happy my sister was when she told me she was pregnant?"
"She said it was the proudest, happiest moment of her life."
"She wanted to share that joy with you so many times. She truly did. But she was terrified you'd be furious. That you'd forbid her from being with the man she loved. So she kept it to herself."
Alexandra's tears fell freely now, soaking through her clothes.
"You've always cared for your daughter, Dad, but why don't you care for her child?"
"Do you honestly believe my sister would want to see her son killed? No. She'd be devastated. She would hate you for it, Dad. Can't you see that?"
"No matter how much you loathe that man, it's been fifteen years. You can't pretend her child died in that fire. He survived. He's right here, kneeling before her grave. And he's hurting."
Her voice broke under the weight of her plea, but she forced herself to keep speaking. For John. For Aviana.
Warren clutched his head, his fingers trembling as waves of torment and regret surged through him like a storm. For a long time, he stood silent, caught between past mistakes and the wreckage of the present.
Eventually, his hoarse voice emerged—quiet, yet heavy with emotion.
"Alexandra... get up."
But Alexandra didn't move. She remained kneeling in the rain, her resolve unwavering.
—
Meanwhile, in the cemetery, before Aviana's gravestone...
John hadn't moved in hours. He remained kneeling, his body stiff, his eyes vacant. The truth he had finally uncovered weighed so heavily on his soul that even breathing felt like a betrayal.
Not even the faint voice in his mind stirred him.
"Call Little John. Call Little John. I haven't found my master yet, but I've got to go into this ancient cave. Contact you later!"
It was Angela's voice, transmitting through the Mind Circle—a technique they used to communicate mentally across distances.
She had found something—probably one of those ancient tombs again. He had once told her to send a message if she located Gianna Semel. Clearly, she hadn't found her yet. This message was unrelated. A casual update. Unaware of the storm raging in his heart.
But John didn't reply. He didn't even blink.
He just stayed there, kneeling in the rain, his grief stretching from dusk to night.
—
At the cemetery entrance, Warren watched his grandson—this boy he once wished dead—with an unreadable expression.
The hatred in his chest hadn't completely vanished.
But something had shifted.
He turned and left quietly.
Alexandra, who had also knelt for hours, finally staggered to her feet, her legs numb, her knees red and bruised. She winced as blood trickled from beneath her skirt. But it was worth it.
Her father had said nothing. But his silence and retreat meant everything.
It meant—for now—he wouldn't touch John.
Slowly, Alexandra made her way toward the heart of the cemetery, the numbness in her legs forcing her to walk like someone rising from the dead.
She came to John's side and knelt beside him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.
"John," she said softly, "your mother hears you. She knows what's in your heart. Please… stand up."
But John didn't respond.
Alexandra's heart broke all over again.
The pain he felt—how could it be anything less than unbearable?
A boy abandoned as a child, tossed between places, unloved by the world. Five years in an orphanage, surviving a devastating fire. Now, finally, he had uncovered the truth, only to learn his father killed his mother. And the man who sought to murder him... was his grandfather.
What kind of twisted fate was that?
Who could possibly suffer more than John?
"John, get up," she said again, her voice firmer this time. "This isn't what your mother would want."
But still—he did not budge.
She grabbed his arm to pull him up, but he was like stone. Unmoving. Unbreakable.
Furious and heartbroken, she shouted, "Will your mother be happy seeing you like this?!"
Finally, John stirred.
"Aunt Alexandra…"
His voice was quiet. Fragile.
"I'm okay. I just… I just want to stay with her a little longer. I won't do anything foolish. You don't have to worry."
Alexandra's breath caught in her throat.
His words calmed her—but they also cut her.
She sighed and placed her hand gently on his shoulder again.
"Let the past stay in the past," she whispered. "The pain will pass… eventually."
And with that, she turned and made her way back to the cemetery entrance. She instructed the guards firmly:
"Watch over him. If anything happens—anything at all—call me immediately."
"Yes, Miss Flaherty!"
—
The next morning, Alexandra returned.
John was still there. Still kneeling.
Her brows furrowed, but she didn't speak to him. She understood—he needed space. Time. Silence.
Instead, she gave the guards new instructions: deliver meals to John regularly. She cooked them herself.
But he didn't touch a single bite.
Not even water.
He barely acknowledged anyone. Not even the guards who respectfully called his name.
Alexandra didn't scold him. She didn't force him.
She simply continued to bring the meals every day, leaving them beside him.
He would eat when his body gave in. No one could fight hunger forever. No matter how strong their will.
And John… he was strong.
He had his mother's stubbornness.
But not even that could stop the rain.
—
On the fourth day…
A suffocating gloom blanketed the sky. Dark clouds rolled overhead like a lid slamming shut on the world. Thunder rumbled, and soon, the heavens opened. Rain crashed down in waves, soaking everything.
The wind screamed through the graveyard, tearing leaves from trees and slapping branches against stone.
Still—John didn't move.
He was drenched to the bone, but he stayed motionless, head bowed before his mother's grave.
Until—
"Little John…?"
A voice—soft, trembling—emerged behind him.
A figure stepped out from the downpour. Graceful. Slender.
Bertha.
Her long hair was plastered to her face. Her dress clung to her soaked skin. But in her hand, she held a trembling umbrella.
She stopped at John's side.
Rain poured around them.
"I'll stay with you," she whispered.
And she held the umbrella over his head.