I Raised His 99 Children to Save My Son Chapter 08

I Raised His 99 Children to Save My Son Chapter 08

“Daddy’s sorry, Elias. Daddy failed you.”

“I was wrong. I should’ve been there. I should’ve cared about you. I shouldn’t have used that cord blood to mock your mother.”

“I’ll find her. I’ll bring her back. We’ll never be apart again, I swear. I’ll celebrate your birthday with you every single day. Please…”

He crouched in the ruins of that room, clutching the sketchbook to his chest, sobbing like a lost child.

But no matter how hard he cried, his son was never coming back.

Far across the vast sea, on a quiet and forgotten stretch of shore, I lay half-buried in cold sand. The tide had spat me out onto the beach of Coastal Cove Village, where an old couple, Arthur and Martha, found me and pulled me back from the edge of death.

They asked no questions. Not about my past, not about where I’d come from, not about how I’d ended up in the water. They simply cared for me, nursed my wounds in silence, and gave me a place

to rest.

Life in the village was simple, healing. Rise with the sun, rest when it set.

No scheming. No betrayals. No ninety-nine children screaming my name. No reporters from The Westshire Insider picking apart my every breath.

I woke to the sound of waves and fell asleep to the glow of the sunset. The peace was almost unbearable.

Elias had told me once, in that small voice of his, what he wanted most in the world was that when he got better, he wanted to live by the sea with his mom and dad.

Watch his father sail out with the fishing boats in the morning. Comb the beach for seashells with his mother in the evening.

Seven years old. Seven years of suffering. He never once saw the sea.

The thought still ached somewhere deep in my chest, but the pain had changed. Less like a blade twisting in my ribs, more like a quiet, settled sorrow.

Arthur and Martha treated me like their own daughter. Warm broth every morning. Fresh bandages

every night. They never pried, only gave.

One afternoon, I was in the yard hanging herbs to dry when the television inside flickered with

news from Westshire City.

And then I saw him. Kian Steele. His face filled the screen.

A missing persons alert ran on a loop. My photograph was plastered across every street corner, every shop window, every lamppost in Westshire City.

The reward was staggering. Kian Steele had made his decree. Find me, alive or dead, and name your

price.

Arthur and Martha stepped into the yard and saw the broadcast. They recognized me instantly.

My heart seized. My fingers twisted in the hem of my shirt. I braced myself for the inevitable. That

kind of money could set them up for the rest of their lives. Anyone would take it. Anyone sensible.

But Martha walked straight up to me, her weathered hands wrapping around mine, and said,

“Young lady. That’s you on the screen, isn’t it? You’re the one who ran that preschool for all those

children of his.”

I nodded, silent and cold inside.

Martha squeezed my hand, her voice firm. “Listen to me, dear. Don’t you ever go back to that man.

You’ve suffered enough.”

I stood there, stunned. My eyes burned. “You’re not turning me in? That reward could keep you

comfortable forever.”

Arthur took a slow drag from his pipe and spoke at last. “My wife and I have lived off the sea our whole lives. Simple food. Simple ways. What would we do with all that money? Money can’t buy a clear conscience, and it sure as hell can’t justify shoving a girl who just crawled out of her grave

straight back into the fire.”

“You stay put. Keep to the cottage. Don’t go wandering where prying eyes might see. When the fuss dies down, we’ll figure out the rest.”

Tears blurred my vision. I couldn’t speak.

Strangers. People I’d known for mere weeks. They saw my pain and shielded me without a second thought.

And Kian Steele-the man who’d shared my bed for seven years-had shoved me into the abyss over and over again, grinding me beneath his heel, never once sparing me a flicker of genuine

mercy.