Chapter 10
Caleb’s POV
:
Spencer had completely severed all ties with the Burns family.
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Instead of taking over Burns Group as the family had hoped, he joined the Institute for Advanced Study in Mathematics after graduation.
I’d caught sight of him on TV more than a few times.
He had grown even more reticent than before, always perfectly composed, never making a misstep, yet there was a polite detachment in everything he did.
I heard from his colleagues that every medal he received each year was sent to the same address.
Only when mailing those medals would his usually reserved face briefly light up with a smile.
No one knew if the other party ever received the packages Spencer sent over.
But year after year, he kept sending those medals, as if that was the only reason he ever pursued those honors.
In his third year at the Institute for Advanced Study, Spencer, who had never taken a single day off, did something completely out of character. He took three days off, a whole month in advance.
Curious, I had someone check his schedule and found out that a month later, Isabelle would be holding an art exhibition abroad.
Isabelle had gone out of her way to keep this art exhibition under wraps.
Honestly, it was almost unbelievable.
I even had my assistant keep tabs on her schedule every single day, but we still couldn’t find any trace of the
event.
Yet somehow, Spencer, who practically lived at the Institute for Advanced Study, managed to hear about it long before anyone else did.
While I was shocked, I also felt deeply saddened.
Not for a single moment had Spencer forgotten about his mother.
When we were together, Isabelle had always lived in my shadow.
Everyone had seen her only as Mrs. Burns, forgetting she was actually a talented artist.
Suddenly, I remembered the first time I met her.
She could stand before a painting and talk about it for over half an hour, her eyes shining with love and pride.
12:45 Thu, Sep 25
Chapter 10
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After marrying me, whenever someone questioned the value of her painting, she would passionately and indignantly argue back in defense of her art.
Over time, Isabelle grew quieter and quieter, her passion slowly fading away.
But after she left me, she finally found her freedom again and began to shine, brighter than ever.
Over the years in that small town, Isabelle had nurtured countless outstanding students.
She fully sponsored dozens of them, sending them to high schools in the town center and then to universities.
Her paintings gradually gained recognition, not as “Mrs. Burns,” but simply as “Isabelle Stewart.”
She held over a dozen art exhibitions across the country, donating more than half of the proceeds to support underprivileged students and build schools for children in need.
On the day of Isabelle’s overseas art exhibition, my assistant informed me that Spencer had flown in a day early.
My assistant asked, “Mr. Burns, would you like me to book you an international flight?”
I sat frozen at my desk. After what felt like an eternity, I finally murmured, “No.”
For the first time, I felt ashamed of even wanting to see her.
I didn’t deserve to face her.
When I turned 40, Isabelle remarried.
It was said that her new husband was a cultural relics conservator.
My assistant managed to photograph the man a few times for me.
He looked rather ordinary, even dull, behind thick–rimmed glasses that accentuated his scholarly air.
Yet in every shot, his gaze at Isabelle was always tender and full of affection.
In Isabelle’s touring exhibitions, her paintings began to occasionally feature exquisite antiques and the quiet, refined profile of a man.
Though rendered with cool detachment, the brushstrokes overflowed with love.
When I was 45, Isabelle threw a fourth birthday party for her daughter.
Years ago, when she gave birth to Spencer, complications had left her unable to have more children.
So this little girl was adopted by her and her husband.
In the end, I couldn’t resist. As the birthday party was winding down, I went to steal a glance at her.
12:45 Thu, Sep 25
Chapter 10
:
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By the time I arrived, it was already evening, and all the guests had left.
Through the villa’s fence, I saw Isabelle again after so many years.
She had become chubbier, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
Though she was clearly older than before, I couldn’t help but feel she looked younger than ever.
I watched as she knelt down, arms wide open, waiting for the little girl to run joyfully into her embrace.
Her husband stood behind her, his face glowing with adoration as he watched them.
The little girl threw herself into her mother’s arms and called out sweetly, “Mommy!”
Gathering the child into a tight hug, she mimicked the girl’s playful tone and softly cooed, “Yes, Mommy loves you.”
It felt as if someone had stabbed me in the heart.
Suddenly, I heard a low, muffled sob. For a split second, I thought it was coming from me.
It wasn’t until I glanced to the side that I saw Spencer, standing just outside the fence, not too far away.
The 22–year–old man was covering his face with trembling hands, crying like a child.
He must have remembered the time when he was four.
His very first word was “Daddy.” But it was Isabelle who had answered him, pulling him into a tight hug and whispering, “Mommy loves you.”
Before we knew it, everyone in the front yard had already gone inside, laughing and chatting.
But that long row of fences stood like a cage, trapping the two of us outside the villa.
Wordlessly, Spencer and I locked eyes. Then, just as quickly, we both looked away.
At that moment, neither of us could hold back our tears.
The End
