He had never seen her cry.
Not when his father became sick.
Not when the doctors announced his death.
Not even during the funeral.
But now she was terrified.
“Open the coffin,” Ethan whispered.
Maria shook her head.
“No, Ethan. You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand!”
His voice broke.
“You just told me my entire life was a lie. Now you’re telling me my father might still be alive!”
Maria covered her face.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Silence.
Then Maria finally whispered:
“Your father wasn’t sick.”
Ethan stopped breathing.
“He was murdered.”
Ethan’s eyes filled with tears.
“By who?”
Maria looked toward the funeral hall doors.
“By the man who wanted his inheritance.”
“Who?”
Before Maria could answer, the coffin suddenly shook.
Everyone in the room screamed.
Ethan rushed forward and ripped open the lid.
Inside—
His father was alive.
Weak, pale, barely conscious…
but alive.
Ethan collapsed beside him.
“Dad…”
His father slowly opened his eyes.
“Ethan…”
A tear rolled down his cheek.
“I’m sorry, son.”
Ethan grabbed his hand.
“Why did Maria say I’m not your real son?”
His father’s expression changed.
He looked at Maria.
Then back at Ethan.
“There is something you were never supposed to know.”
Ethan’s voice trembled.
“What?”
His father squeezed his hand.
“You are my son…”
He took a painful breath.
“But Maria isn’t your mother.”
Ethan looked at Maria in shock.
Then his father whispered:
“Your real mother is still alive.”
Maria covered her mouth.
And suddenly—
the funeral hall doors opened.
A woman Ethan had never seen before walked inside.
She was holding an old photograph of a newborn baby.
She looked directly at Ethan.
And whispered:
“I’m your mother.”
