Chapter 5
The Return
The terminal at Heathrow hummed with distant movement. Anonymous. Transitional. A river of strangers flowing toward destinations that meant nothing to him. Thomas sat alone in a row of seats near his gate, suitcase at his feet, burner phone in his hand. He stared at the surname on the screen.
Wong.
Not an escape. A return.
The word hit something buried. Something familiar and nostalgic. His eyes drifted away from the screen, pulled backward by a current stronger than the present.
Fourteen years earlier. Rain poured heavily over London. Thomas, twenty-one, wild, disheveled, and wasted drunk, stumbled out of a taxi. He collapsed onto the wet pavement, mud splashing his expensive suit. The world tilted. Lights smeared into long golden streaks.
Suddenly, small hands grabbed him, struggling to pull him up. Not strong, but determined. He looked up, vision blurry.
Later, inside the living room, warm light from a fireplace flickered against the walls. Thomas woke on the velvet couch. A wool blanket was draped over him. His vision swam. He blinked, trying to focus.
Gradually the blurry world sharpened into one distinct image. Abyssal black eyes. They were staring right at him. Unblinking. Curious.
Tracy sat on the coffee table across from him, nine years old, her feet dangling above the floor.
Thomas startled, pulling back slightly.
“Who are you?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
“I’m Tracy.”
“Tracy what?”
“Just Tracy.”
“You carried me inside?”
“I dragged you. You’re heavy. Like a sack of potatoes.”
Thomas managed a weak, incredulous scoff. He looked at this tiny creature who had somehow hauled him out of the rain.
“Why are you in my house, kid?”
Tracy pointed toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. Her expression turned solemn.
“I came to visit Auntie Wong. She’s sick again. She’s coughing up blood.”
Thomas’s expression softened. Realization dawned.
“Are you Mrs. Wong’s niece?”
Tracy nodded.
A few months later the room smelled of sickness and medicine. Mrs. Wong lay in bed, her face pale and sunken. Her breathing was shallow. Thomas sat beside her, holding her withered hand in both of his.
Mrs. Wong shakily reached under her pillow. She pulled out an old, faded envelope. Thick. Stuffed with worn-out banknotes. Her life savings.
“Take it… please.” Her voice was weak.
“I don’t need your money, Nanny.”
“Not for you. For her. I have a favor. A small one.” She squeezed his hand.
“Anything, Nanny. Just name it.”
“Tracy… she is too young. She has no one else to rely on. Keep it for her.” She coughed weakly. “Buy her a warm coat for winter. Buy her a present for Christmas. Buy her books when school starts…”
Thomas looked at the envelope. It represented twenty years of savings from the woman who had been there for his every meal, every fever, every fall. He gently closed her fingers back around the envelope, pushing it back to her chest.
“Keep your money, Nanny. I promise. As long as I breathe, she will never be alone.”
The memory released him.
Back in the terminal the noise of Heathrow rushed in again. Thomas looked up at the massive, flickering departures board. Rows of cities flipped and changed. New York. Dubai. Paris. Singapore. His gaze locked on one line glowing in amber text.
Flight AC248. Toronto. Status: Boarding.
He gripped the strap of his carry-on bag. The ghost of Nanny Wong’s voice echoed.
She has no one else to rely on…
Thomas took a deep breath.
“I’m coming.”
At this point there was no turning back. He turned and walked toward the security gate, disappearing into the crowd.
The Canadian autumn was at its peak when he arrived. Endless rows of Sugar Maples blazed in vibrant shades of scarlet and burnt orange against a piercingly blue sky. A silver sedan sat on the gravel shoulder. The driver’s door opened. Thomas stepped out.
He stood out like a foreign object. Charcoal grey suit. Crisp white shirt. Polished black oxfords. No skyscrapers. No grey fog. No glass walls. Just vast, indifferent nature. The wind bit at his face, carrying the scent of dry leaves and damp earth. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect gelled style.
“I’m here.”
In the boutique suite that afternoon the coffee table was covered in documents. The photos sent by the PI. A printed schedule of St. Catherine’s Hospital. A map of the Niagara Region. Thomas stood over the table, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up.
He picked up a set of photos taken at night. Tracy and Liam entering apartment 2B. Jack standing at the door of 2C, waving goodnight.
“They are not married… and apparently not living together?”
He checked the time on his watch. School run time. He grabbed his coat.
The playground outside the kindergarten was filled with falling leaves. Parents, mostly mothers, clustered by the gate. Thomas sat in his car parked across the street, dark sunglasses on, slumped slightly in the seat, trying to be invisible.
The bell rang. A flood of children poured out. Noise. Chaos. Thomas scanned the crowd, eyes darting back and forth, filtering the data.
Liam ran out. Cocoa-brown knitted hoodie zipped up to his chin against the chill. Laughing. Chasing a stray leaf. Thomas took off his sunglasses and stared at the boy. The way Liam tilted his head when he stopped running was the exact same tilt Thomas made when he leaned forward, breath fogging the window.
“Hello, Liam.”
Then he saw her.
Tracy walked through the gate. Jeans. Thick knitted scarf. Boots. Face bare of makeup. Exhausted, but soft. Liam spotted her and sprinted, crashing into her legs. Tracy laughed, bending down to scoop him up. She kissed his cheek.
A man approached them. Jack high-fived Liam. He said something to Tracy that made her smile. A comfortable, easy smile. Jack reached out and took Liam’s backpack. A simple gesture of support. Tracy did not push him away. She accepted the help.
They walked to the black sedan together. A trio.
Thomas’s foot hovered over the gas pedal. Every instinct screamed at him to drive over there. But he did not move. He watched their car disappear around the corner.
In the silence of the car the school yard emptied. He looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Disheveled hair. Intense. Desperate. He needed a strategy. Not an ambush. Or else she would run. And he would lose her. Again.
He reached for the map on the passenger seat.
“I need to know… whatever it costs.”
That night the apartment was quiet. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound. Tracy stood by the kitchen sink, hands submerged in soapy water, washing a single plate. But she was not moving. She stared blankly at the dark window above the sink. The reflection of her own tired eyes stared back.
“It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.”
She scrubbed the plate harder. Anxious. But the image in her mind was vivid. The sharp jawline. The intense, haunted eyes that had stared right at her from the park bench.
“He’s with her. He forgot you years ago.”
She rinsed the plate, turned off the faucet. The silence returned, heavier than before.
The memory rose unbidden.
Five years earlier. The living room of the Lloyd mansion. Opulence. Old money. The room felt like a museum, cold and imposing. Tracy, eighteen, sat on the edge of a velvet chair in her school uniform, looking out of place. Opposite her sat Madame Lloyd. Elizabeth. Elegant. Iced-tea cold. Terrifyingly polite.
She slid a small photograph across the mahogany table. Tracy looked down. Her breath hitched.
The photo was grainy, black and white. Tracy and Thomas kissing passionately in the shadows of an alleyway behind a bar.
“It’s a charming picture. For a tabloid.”
Tracy flushed crimson. She tried to speak, but no words came out.
“Thomas is a Lloyd. He is the future of this House. His marriage to Selena will be announced soon.” Madame Lloyd took a sip of tea. She did not raise her voice. She did not have to.
“But you, my dear… You are his ward. His charity case. If this comes out… It won’t just be a scandal. It will be an execution. You will destroy our reputation.”
Madame Lloyd pushed a thick folder across the table, covering the photo. A neat stack of documents fanned out. An acceptance letter from a college in Paris. A student visa application, already approved and stamped.
“Dave has made all the arrangements. A flight to Paris. A tuition deposit. A generous living allowance. A new life. Far away from here.”
Tracy stared at the folder. It was not an offer. It was an eviction notice.
“If you truly want the best for him… Go!”
Tracy snapped back to the present. The shame of that night still burned. The feeling of being a stain on Thomas’s perfect life.
The next day she stood at the counter of a cramped budget pharmacy. Fluorescent lights hummed loudly. She looked worn out. She placed a bottle of children’s cough syrup and a small, cheap plastic car on the counter. The clerk scanned them.
“That’s $18.50.”
Tracy froze. She dug into her worn-out wallet. She counted the coins and crumpled bills. Her face pale. She was short on cash. She looked down at Liam, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“Baby… Mommy didn’t bring enough money. We have to put the car back.”
Liam’s smile faltered. He looked at the car, then at his mom. He slowly put the car on the counter.
“It’s okay. I don’t need it.”
Suddenly a hand in a sleek black coat reached past her. A platinum card was placed on the counter. Beep.
“Put it on my tab. Both of them. And add a box of those chocolates.”
Tracy stiffened. That voice. It echoed from her nightmares and her sweetest dreams. She spun around slowly. Shocked.
Thomas stood there. Powder-blue dress shirt, the top button undone, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Impeccable. But his eyes were burning with a suppressed intensity.
Tracy dropped her wallet.
“… Uncle?” The word was a whisper.
Thomas bent down to pick up her wallet. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers for a split second. The electricity was palpable.
“Long time no see, Kiddo.”
Liam looked up. His eyes widened in recognition.
“Handsome Zombie! It’s you!”
Thomas knelt, eye-level with the boy. He forced a warm smile, masking the turmoil inside.
“Hello!”
“Did you go to the hospital? Did the doctor fix your head? Are you feeling better?”
“I am. Thanks to you. You woke me up.”
Thomas handed the toy car and the chocolates to Liam.
“These are for you. For saving me.”
Tracy snapped out of her shock. She grabbed Liam’s hand, snatching the medicine bag. Panic set in.
“We have to go. Say thank you, Liam.”
“Thank you, Handsome Zombie!”
Thomas looked at the medicine with genuine concern.
“Is he sick?”
“Just a flu. Come on, Liam.”
She fled.
Outside, Thomas chased after them. He caught up near the bus stop. Tracy turned, shielding Liam behind her back.
“Stop following us! How did you find me? Did you stalk me?”
“I had to know you were safe.”
“Safe?” She laughed bitterly. “You care about my safety now? Where were you those four years?”
Thomas opened his mouth, wanting to scream about the accident. But Tracy cut him off, her voice breaking.
“Not a phone call for years. And now you just show up out of nowhere, hand out expensive chocolates, and expect what? To disrupt my life again?”
“If you knew…” His voice was low, pained.
“If I knew what? That you’re happy with your wife while I’m struggling?”
Thomas flinched. The accusation hit home.
A quick flash: the living room of the Lloyd mansion five years ago. Thomas, cold and distant. “This is Selena, my fiancée.”
Tracy saw the raw pain in his eyes. She realized she had gone too far. She took a deep breath, shoulders sagging.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… Thank you for the medicine. But please, go back to your family.”
Thomas stepped a little closer. He ignored her plea to leave.
“I saw you yesterday. With him… Jack.”
Tracy’s jaw tensed. She knew they had been investigated.
“He seems kind.”
“He is good to us.”
Thomas shifted his gaze to Liam, who was peeking out from behind Tracy’s leg.
“And the boy…” His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with a terrifying hope. “He has your eyes, Tracy.”
He looked straight at her with doubts. Tracy’s heart hammered. She remembered Selena. She remembered the threat to Thomas’s reputation. And she had to protect her son.
The bus arrived. Tracy picked up Liam and stepped aboard without looking back.
— End of Chapter 5 —