When Jules reached the very back, he found himself facing a wooden door. There wasn’t even a lock—he just gave it a gentle push and it swung open.
Inside, there was a narrow bed, a square table, and to the side, a basic bathroom with a drain cut into the floor.
On the bed, an old man was curled up, holding a woman close to his chest.
Well, to be accurate, they were both elderly—hair white as frost, skin so pale it looked almost ghostly.
Maybe they’d heard Jules’s footsteps. The old man slowly turned his face toward the door, and his gaze—still sharp despite the years—lit up in shock when he saw Jules.
Jules stomped hard on the floor, and all the motion-sensor lights flickered on. The room snapped into clarity.
He stared at the old man, and for an instant, the shadowy figure from his childhood memories overlapped perfectly with the person in front of him.
Jules’ chest tightened. His knees nearly buckled as he blurted out, “Father.”
The old man struggled to sit up, his eyes locked on Jules. “Jules? Is it really you?”
Jules felt like he couldn’t breathe. He pointed to the woman beside his father. “Who is she?”
The woman was clearly younger than the old man, but after so many years locked away, her skin was almost translucent, her body gaunt and frail. Even so, her spirit was fierce.
She glared at Jules with a look so venomous it could cut glass. If looks could kill, he’d have been gone in a heartbeat.
Jules slumped to the floor, his voice breaking. “Father, why are you here with another woman? Where does that leave Mother?”
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