The Surrogate He Discarded

The drive back to the capital passed in silence.

This time, Morgan didn’t insist on taking the wheel. Instead, he sat beside Isobel in the back seat, leaving the chauffeur to navigate the winding mountain roads.

Golden rays of the setting sun streamed through the landscape, painting the countryside in amber and gold. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

Only after the car had left dusty road behind did Morgan break the silence.

”Do you want to look for your uncle?”

Isobel kept her eyes on the passing scenery.

”No. Not yet.”

Her answer came softly, almost lost beneath the hum of the engine.

”After what Grandma Emelia told me... I don’t think he wants to see me.”

There was no resentment in her voice.

Only exhaustion.

They had left Greenvale much later than either of them had expected.

Isobel had spent more than an hour at the village cemetery, sitting quietly before her mother’s grave. She hadn’t cried. She had simply remained there, letting the years she had lost settle into her heart.

Afterward, Grandmother Emelia had taken her to the place where her mother had once lived.

The little house was gone.

In its place stretched a neat vegetable garden, rows of leafy greens swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.

Somehow, that comforted Isobel.

At least the land had not been abandoned.

It was still nurturing life.

Before leaving the village, Isobel quietly slipped a thick envelope into Grandmother Emelia’s hands.

”For the household,” she said.

She had seen enough during her visit.

The elderly woman had raised eight children—four sons and four daughters. Now, in her old age, she was sharing her modest home with her youngest daughter and her family. The worn walls, patched roof, and simple furnishings spoke of years of hardship.

Grandmother Emelia immediately tried to return the envelope.

”Oh, child, I can’t accept this.”

”You can,” Isobel replied gently, closing the old woman’s fingers around it. ”Please. Let me do this much.”

The old woman’s eyes grew moist.

After a long moment, she nodded.

”...Thank you, dear child.”

Morgan had made his own contribution before they departed.

Without any fanfare, he handed the village chief a generous donation with only one request.

”Use it to build a proper village center.”

The chief stood speechless for a moment before bowing deeply. The village elders echoed their gratitude, repeatedly thanking him as the news spread through the square.

By the time the SUV finally rolled out of Greenvale...

...the sun was already sinking below the mountains, and dusk had begun to blanket the countryside.

...

It was close to midnight when Morgan’s car finally rolled through the gates of the Foster Manor.

The mansion was quiet, its lights dimmed for the night.

Only the living room remained illuminated.

Julian was still awake.

He had been sitting alone for hours, unable to bring himself to retire before they returned. The untouched cup of coffee on the table had long since gone cold.

The moment he heard the front door open, he rose to his feet.

His eyes immediately searched Isobel’s face.

”How was it?” he asked quietly.

”Did you find her?”

The question hung in the air.

Isobel lowered her eyes.

For a brief moment, she couldn’t bring herself to answer.

Then, with all the strength she had left, she forced the words out.

”...My mother is already dead.”

She tried to sound calm. Tried to make it sound like nothing more than a statement of fact.

But the last word broke. The crack in her voice echoed through the silent room.

Julian froze.

The color drained from his face so quickly that he looked as though all the blood had left his body.

His lips parted, but no words came.

Finally...

”She...” His voice trembled. ”She... died?”

Isobel gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

Julian swallowed hard.

”...How?”

The single word was barely audible.

Isobel’s shoulders slowly sagged, as though the answer itself weighed too much to carry.

”She died...”

She paused, fighting the tightness in her throat.

”...while giving birth to me.”

Silence followed. An absolute silence hung in the air.

Julian stared at her blankly. The words seemed too cruel for his mind to comprehend.

Then his knees suddenly gave way. He stumbled backward until the backs of his legs struck the sofa before collapsing onto it.

His hands shook uncontrollably.

”No...”

The whisper escaped him like a plea.

”No...”

He buried his face in his trembling hands.

”I should’ve gone back.”

His voice cracked under the crushing weight of regret.

”I should’ve sent someone...”

”I should’ve made sure she wasn’t alone.”

Each sentence grew weaker than the last.

”I promised...”

His shoulders quivered.

”I promised I would protect her.”

The room fell silent except for the sound of a man quietly breaking apart.

Years of guilt and unanswered questions crumbled in an instant.

He thought that if she was still alive, then it would be an opportunity to explain.

To apologize. To make amends.

Now...

There never would be a chance.

The woman he had failed had carried his daughter alone.

She had brought their child into the world and paid for it with her life.

No amount of regret could rewrite that ending.

No apology could reach the dead.

And for the first time in decades, Julian understood that some losses were not merely painful.

They were permanent.

...

Morgan remained silent.

What was there left to say?

Should he tell his father that, in Greenvale, he had been remembered not as a young man who almost died... but as the heartless scoundrel who had abandoned an innocent woman after getting her pregnant?

That the villagers had spoken of him with disappointment instead of anger, as though they had long accepted that he would never return?

That every story they heard painted the same picture—a man who had vanished without so much as a letter, leaving the woman he claimed to love to face everything alone?

No.

There was no purpose in reopening wounds that were already bleeding.

After a long silence, Morgan finally spoke.

”Dad...”

His voice was low and steady.

”...maybe it’s better this way. If she had survived...”

Julian slowly lifted his head. Morgan glanced toward Isobel.

”...our lives would only have become more complicated.”

There would have been questions. Resentment.

Old promises colliding with new obligations.

Julian understood what his son was trying to do.

He wasn’t dismissing the tragedy.

He was trying to ease a guilt that could never be undone.

After a long while, Julian let out a weary sigh.

”...Perhaps.”

But the word tasted bitter.

Because deep down, he knew there was nothing ”better” about it.

It was merely the only ending fate had left them.