Page 113 of The Call She Made That He Never Answered
"Grandfather..."
"You know, Ella," he cut me off, focusing on her, "Lucas was like that at birth. Two months old, his parents dumped him on me and jetted off to travel the world."
My body froze.
No.
Not here. Not in front of her.
"They said nannies handle kids," Grandfather went on, voice bitter. "A child would cramp their style. They lived off family funds, worry-free. Traveled everywhere—except home. Even Lucas's wedding? They were in Antarctica on some 'polar expedition,' trekking to the South Pole. Sent a photo with an iceberg: 'Regrets we can't attend.'"
"Grandfather." My voice came sharper than intended. "Ella just got out of the hospital. She needs rest. This can wait."
Blood pounded in my temples. My parents were a dark corner I'd buried deep. Now Grandfather dragged it into the light, exposing it to Ella piece by piece.
"Let Mr. Rockefeller finish, Lucas." Ella interrupted.
Her eyes held something unreadable—pity, curiosity, mostly resolve.
Grandfather glanced at me, apology flickering. But he pressed on.
"Lucas's parents' marriage? Classic old-money blueprint." His voice aged but sharp. "Two top families, pure transaction."
He paused. "Born with silver spoons, they never gave a damn for anyone. Took the pampered life as their due. Raising an heir? Duty. Actually parenting? Waste of their prime."
"That's just..." Ella sighed, trailing off.
"Selfish."
I finished for her.
I turned to the window, back to that judgment behind me. To the world, I stood at the pinnacle. But here, baring family skeletons to the woman I loved left me raw, humiliated.
Grandfather sighed. "Lucas was three, fever at 104, crying for Mommy in his sleep. The old butler called Paris. They were front-row at a fashion show." He paused, sarcasm thick. "Guess what? 'We have the best doctors at home. Why bother us with trivia? Us coming back won't sit bedside like them.'"
I shut my eyes, fingers digging into the windowsill. It hit me—words I'd thrown at Ella echoed theirs. I'd become their echo, hurting her without knowing, even as their first victim.
"I knew early," Grandfather said, "Lucas's upbringing went wrong."
I spun around, confused. "What wrong? You hired top tutors, taught me strength, survival in business, and reaching the top. Was that bad?"
He looked at me, guilt and love mixed.
"But you're hollow inside. No parental love from the start. Outside work, you fumble real connections—with women, with your wife."
We both went quiet.
Grandfather sighed. "Quality time and love from parents shape character, set a family's happiness ceiling."
Ella stood and came to me. Her hand on my arm—light, but real.
"So when I saw your coldness to Ella," Grandfather eyed us, "I knew the damage was done. Words couldn't fix it."
"But Lucas changed." Ella's voice firmed. "He's learning. For our child, our family—he's done so much."
Grandfather stared at me, then her. His tough eyes softened. "That's why I thank you, Ella. Your love and patience made him whole."
Her hand on my shoulder trembled, the quake hitting me. My heart clenched, acid rising. Ella knew my deepest scars now, her look pure compassion. Those midnight shadows I'd hidden? Her light dried them out.
