Chapter 3

“Let’s start with the legal provisions...” Angela started.

“Do you have anything about my mother in those papers?” Peter interrupted, his voice trembling with anticipation.

“Oh,” Angela exclaimed. “I’m such a fool. Of course, that’s the first thing I should have mentioned.” She looked embarrassed, but quickly composed herself.

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter reassured her. “Now, do you?”

Angela reached for a file and handed it to Peter. “Here,” she said. “I don’t need to explain it, just read it.”

With trembling fingers, Peter opened the file and the first thing he saw was a picture of a beautiful young woman, no older than 17 or 18 years old. “My mother,” he said in a hushed voice, studying the photo. He tried to maintain his composure, but it proved impossible. Those eyes ... they were his eyes. The lips, the shape of the nose. He recognized himself in her.

A piercing cry of anguish echoed through his mind: “Why, Mom? Why did you leave me?” But the answer to these questions would forever remain a mystery. Tears welled up in his eyes and threatened to spill over, but he fought to hold them back.

With great effort, he set the old photograph aside. There would be time for mourning later, when he wasn’t so consumed by the search for answers.

The file before him read, “Elizabeth Hughes.” Daughter of Robert and Martha Hughes. She had run away from home at the age of 18 to join a mysterious cult. According to the information gathered, she had one child and her current whereabouts were unknown.

He scanned through her profile, noting her likes and dislikes. Surprisingly, they shared a mutual aversion to avocados. Then he turned his attention to her school transcripts. Elizabeth had been an excellent student until she reached adolescence and started to change. Despite attempts by counselors, psychologists and behavioral experts, nothing could quell her rebellious tendencies.

Eventually, she found solace in the cult and became determined to leave home as soon as she turned 18. And that’s exactly what she did - disappearing without a trace. She left behind all of her belongings - clothes, car, even her phone - leaving her distraught parents with nothing but a note on her bed. They immediately contacted the police, but since Elizabeth had left of her own free will, there was little they could do to bring her home.

Her father had tried to contact the cult to buy his daughter release, but he found a wall of silence. They were powerful, more powerful than him. For 25 years Robert Hughes had tried to find his daughter to no avail, until the cult made a mistake that caused the death of several members. The police arrested most of the leadership, including the high priest.

He skimmed through the documents, his eyes scanning over the words until they landed on the section that piqued his interest. These were the police reports from when they had raided the cult’s headquarters and seized all their records. In their frantic search for information, they had meticulously combed through every page, desperate to uncover any hidden secrets or clues. And that’s when they found it - multiple mentions of his mother, her name appearing in various notes and journals. One particular remark caught his attention - She had given birth to a child, and he had been given away, as per the leader’s orders. The investigators delved deeper into the research, carefully piecing together timelines and locations, until revealing that a male child matching the search criteria had indeed been left at an orphanage and raised within the system before being released upon reaching adulthood. The mention of DNA samples being taken sent a shiver down his spine - he couldn’t recall ever having undergone such a test. But there it was, confirming that Robert Stevenson was indeed Elizabeth Hughes’ son, now 28 years old and living a seemingly ordinary life as a college graduate and substitute teacher for hire.

The final entry on the file was a somber one: “Despite our tireless efforts, the whereabouts of Elizabeth Hughes remain a mystery.” The words hung heavy in the air, a testament to the frustration and disappointment of those who had searched for her. Every lead had turned up empty, every trail gone cold. The truth remained elusive, leaving a void that seemed impossible to fill. The file closed with a sense of defeat and uncertainty, a constant reminder of a missing piece in the puzzle.

Peter’s voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. “I wish to be alone for a while,” he said, the words barely audible in the quiet room. Both Angela and Vicky nodded in understanding and quietly left, closing the door behind them.

As soon as the women were gone, Peter allowed himself to break down. The weight of grief and sorrow overwhelmed him, and tears streamed freely down his face. He cried for what felt like hours, until he felt drained and empty. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and succumbed to exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep.

When he finally woke up, it took him a moment to realize where he was. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he reached out and pressed the call button with trembling fingers. It was time to face reality once again.

Angela and Karen entered the room. “How do you feel?” Angela asked.

“I’d like to see Mr. Hughes,” he said. Angela noticed he hadn’t said “my grandfather.”

“Of course. He should be already awake,” she said.

Peter gingerly placed a hand on his side, still feeling the dull ache from his injury. His steps were slow and deliberate as they approached Mr. Hughes’ bedroom, where another nurse was already attending to him.

The old man’s face broke into a wide smile when he caught sight of Peter. “Good morning, Peter! Did you sleep well?” he greeted warmly.

“Yes, Mr. Hughes, thank you,” Peter replied politely.

“Please, call me Grandfather,” the old man insisted.

“I think it’s a bit too soon for that, if you don’t mind,” Peter hesitated.

Mr. Hughes nodded understandingly. “Of course, my boy. It must all be so overwhelming for you.”

“That’s an understatement,” Peter chuckled nervously. “I think I’ll let time dictate when we can use familial terms.”

“Very wise,” his grandfather agreed. “So, has Angela briefed you yet?”

“Not yet,” Peter admitted. “But it’s not her fault. I asked for some time to read my mother’s file first, and then I needed some time alone to process everything. She will start briefing me as soon as we finish here.”

“I completely understand,” Mr. Hughes said sympathetically. “If I were in your position, my main focus would also be on my mother.”

As Peter settled into a nearby chair, his eyes pleaded with his grandfather. “Can you tell me about her? About my mother?”

A wistful and nostalgic expression crossed the elderly man’s face, memories flooding back as he began to paint a vivid picture of Peter’s mother.

“She was always a bit of a rebel, but we, your grandmother and I, hoped she would grow out of it. When she turned 17, we told her about St. Mary’s. She was hesitant to go, so we simply gave her all the information and let her make her own decision. You see, St. Mary’s only accepts women above 18 years old, so there was time for her to decide - at least one more year.”

His expression shifted to one of sadness.

“But then that accursed cult came into her life. We thought she was responsible enough to navigate the Internet safely, but somehow they reached her and she never told us. By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late. We tried therapy, even psychiatrists. For a while, it seemed like she had forgotten everything about it, but it wasn’t true. She simply decided to tell the therapists what they wanted to hear, perhaps coached by someone from the cult, and waited for us to let our guard down.”

The man paused for a moment, and suddenly Peter saw him aging before his very eyes - Robert Hughes looking not 80 years old, but 100. Peter stayed quiet, allowing his grandfather to continue.

“On her eighteenth birthday, she planned an outing with some of her school friends - nothing extravagant, just dinner downtown. According to her friends, she excused herself to use the restroom and never returned.”

Peter could feel the anguish in his grandfather’s voice after all these years.

“When we checked her bedroom later, she had left a note on her bed. It was signed and simply said: ‘I’m leaving, please don’t look for me.’ Those were the last words I ever received from my daughter.”

Peter’s heart felt heavy as he listened to his grandfather’s story. He couldn’t imagine the pain and worry his grandparents must have gone through when his mother disappeared.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said, trying to find the right words.

Robert Hughes shook his head sadly. “We should have been more vigilant, but we trusted her. We never thought she would do something like this.”

“Do you know what happened to her after she left?”

“We never heard from her again,” Mr. Hughes replied with a heavy sigh. “We hired private investigators and even consulted with the police, but there was no trace of her. It was as if she vanished into thin air.”

Peter’s mind raced with questions and possibilities. Did she ever leave the cult? Did she change her identity? Was she still alive?

“What about me?” he asked.

The old man adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat before speaking. “As you know, we discovered your existence when we were reviewing the cult files,” he began in a serious tone. “You weren’t born in a hospital, so we had to comb the country’s orphanages looking for male children who were left there around the possible dates of your birth.” A look of sadness crossed his face as he recalled the difficult task they faced. “It was a challenging search, but we eventually found a few potential candidates. We made DNA tests...”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Angela told me about it. I don’t remember ever submitting to such a test,” he interjected.

A small smile appeared on the old man’s face. “Oh, it was done discreetly. Humans always leave hair behind, you see.” Peter nodded in understanding.

“Did you ever consider that perhaps she didn’t want me to be found?” Peter asked cautiously.

His grandfather’s expression turned pained at the suggestion. “We did, but we couldn’t just give up on our daughter or on you.”

“I understand,” Peter said softly. “But why keep this all a secret from me?”

Mr. Hughes looked away, guilt evident in his features. “It wasn’t an easy decision, believe me!” he exclaimed.

“I wanted nothing more than to hug you as soon as we confirmed your identity,” his grandfather continued with a heavy sigh. “But besides being a grandfather, I also have a huge family heritage and St. Mary’s to protect. We decided to bring you here and test your character first.” He paused and looked at Peter with pride shining in his eyes. “And I’m glad to say that you have proven yourself to be a genuinely good man.”