Chapter 182: A Name From The Past

Isobel finally spoke.

"Uncle, I am not your sister. I’m not Rosella." Her voice was clear, but gentle, as though she were afraid that raising it even slightly might shatter the fragile peace in the room.

Leon frowned.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her, searching her face as if the years between them had suddenly become a blur. Then his shoulders sagged, and he released a heavy, weary sigh. The brief spark of recognition in his eyes faded, replaced by exhaustion.

"Yes..." he murmured. "How could I forget?"

His gaze dropped to his hands. He slowly lifted one bony hand, studying the deep wrinkles and trembling veins that covered his skin.

"You’re right. You cannot be her." His voice was hoarse. "I’m sorry. You just... you looked so much like her."

He tried to straighten himself, but the effort was too much. A violent bout of coughing seized him, shaking his frail body.

"Grandpa, just lie down and rest," Randy urged. Worry was etched across the boy’s face as he reached toward him.

Yana quietly stood and hurried toward the corner, where a container of bottled water sat.

"Yana, don’t use that."

Isobel reached into the shopping bag and pulled out a freshly unopened bottle of water. She held it out to the little girl.

"Here. Give this to your Grandpa."

"Thank you, Aunt Bel." Yana said, her cheeks flushing pink.

She took the bottle and carefully helped Leon drink. He swallowed slowly, desperately, as though the water was the first relief his parched throat had felt in days.

Gradually, his coughing subsided.

Isobel watched him with concern. Perhaps he simply hadn’t had enough water to drink for a long time.

When Leon finally relaxed against the bed made of layered cardboard, Isobel spoke again.

"Uncle, my name is Isobel." She paused, then quietly added, "Isobel Lancey."

The effect was immediate.

Leon froze.

His eyes widened, and the color seemed to drain from his already pale face.

Randy had mentioned the woman’s name earlier, but Leon had only heard her first name. There were countless women named Isobel in the world.

But Isobel Lancey...

That name was different.

It struck something deep within him—something he had buried decades ago and had convinced himself he would never have to face again.

Wasn’t that the very name his sister had chosen for her daughter?

His sister...

Rosella.

Memories came rushing back.

Rosella had endured a difficult childbirth. She had lost an enormous amount of blood and, despite everything the midwife had done, died from complications a month later.

Leon had never recovered from the loss.

He had mourned his sister with a grief that slowly hardened into bitterness. And somewhere along the way, that grief became hatred.

He hated the child he believed had taken Rosella from him.

But he hated the child’s father even more.

Perhaps because he could do nothing to punish that heartless man, Leon had poured all of his anger onto the innocent baby instead. It had been easier to hate a child than to accept that his sister was simply gone.

Yet there was one thing he had never forgotten.

The name.

He remembered the letter his aunt had written. He remembered the name written beside the baby’s birthday. He remembered every detail with startling clarity, as though he had held the letter in his hands only yesterday.

Isobel Lancey.

His aunt had taken the baby away, sending her somewhere far from the family. She had gone with the letter—and with a necklace that had belonged to Rosella, the only keepsake his sister had left behind.

Leon’s lips began to tremble.

His eyes slowly lifted toward Isobel.

"You..." His voice broke.

He stared at her as though he were seeing a ghost.

"You..."

Isobel stood perfectly still, her heart pounding as she met his gaze.

"Uncle," she said softly, "I am Rosella’s daughter."

She swallowed, fighting back the emotions rising in her throat.

"I am your niece."

Isobel’s words hit Leon like a bomb detonating at his feet.

His eyes widened. For a moment, he could only stare at her, unable to breathe, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

Rosella’s daughter.

The name he had buried with his sister.

The child he had spent decades believing was responsible for Rosella’s death.

His niece.

The room seemed to tilt.

Leon’s vision blurred, the faces around him dissolving into indistinct shapes. A storm of emotions crashed through his frail body—shock, disbelief, grief, guilt, and something dangerously close to hope.

It was too much for him to bear. His chest tightened.

He coughed violently, each cough tearing through his weakened lungs. His bony fingers clawed at his chest as he struggled to draw breath.

"Grandpa!"

"Grandpa!"

Randy and Yana screamed at the same time.

Leon’s body suddenly went limp.

His head lolled to one side, and his eyes closed.

"Grandpa!"

Randy grabbed his shoulders and shook him desperately.

"Grandpa, wake up!"

Yana burst into tears, clutching at his arm.

But Leon didn’t respond.

"Move." Isobel’s voice was calm, but urgency sharpened every word. "We’re taking him to the hospital."

She didn’t waste another second.

Isobel snatched up the jacket she had bought for Leon and wrapped it tightly around his frail body. Then, without hesitation, she bent down and lifted him into her arms.

She carried him bridal-style.

For someone who had once been a grown, strong man, Leon felt frighteningly light.

Too light.

He weighed so little that Isobel felt as though she were carrying a child rather than a grown man.

The realization made her heart ache.

How long had he been living like this? How long had he been starving?

She tightened her arms around him.

"Hold on, Uncle," she whispered.

There was no response.

Behind her, Randy and Yana hurried after them, tears streaming silently down their faces.

By then, the people living beneath the bridge had begun spilling out of their makeshift shelters.

They had noticed Isobel earlier—the beautiful, well-dressed young woman who had arrived with the two children. Her presence had already sparked curiosity among the community.

Now, their curiosity turned into stunned silence.

One by one, heads turned as Isobel emerged from the shack with Leon unconscious in her arms.

"Who is that woman?"

"She can’t be the children’s mother, can she? She looks too young."

"Maybe she is their mother."

"Who knows? She could’ve gotten pregnant the moment she got her first period."

The whispers followed her. Isobel heard them.

She ignored every single one.

She didn’t care about their questions. She didn’t care about their assumptions. She didn’t even care that dozens of eyes were watching her.

All she could see was the car waiting ahead.

All she could feel was the weight of the old man in her arms.

Her uncle.

Her mother’s brother.

Her family.

And for the first time in her life, Isobel was terrified that she might lose him before she even had the chance to know him.