Francis stormed out of Grandpa Orhan's house, dragging Micay behind him with a firm grip on her arm. His eyes burned with fury, and his movements were forceful, fueled by deep resentment. Behind them, his mother, Erine, rushed after them, calling out to him in desperation.
"Francis, stop this!" she pleaded, her voice laced with urgency.
But Francis refused to listen. He tightened his hold on Micay as she struggled against his grasp, her face twisting in pain.
"Get out of here before I forget myself and do something I'll regret!" he spat at her.
Micay, determined to stand her ground despite the harsh treatment, steadied herself and met his gaze. "Whether you accept it or not, the truth remains the same—you can't change who you are. You are a Davidson," she said, her voice firm, though her body trembled from his tight grip.
His jaw clenched at her words, but instead of responding, he dragged her roughly toward the door. The moment they reached the threshold, Francis shoved her out with such force that she stumbled and fell onto the ground.
"I said, get out! And don’t ever come back!"
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and yanked his mother inside before slamming the door shut behind them. The sound of the heavy door locking echoed in the air, sealing off any chance for Micay to plead her case further.
A hush fell over the small crowd of villagers who had gathered to witness the dramatic scene. Some whispered among themselves, exchanging glances of pity, while others watched with quiet satisfaction. The air was thick with unspoken opinions.
Micay took a shaky breath, forcing herself to ignore the weight of their stares. She dusted off her clothes and stepped forward, hesitating for only a moment before attempting to open the door. But the handle refused to budge—Francis had locked it from the inside.
Refusing to give up so easily, she hurried around the back of the house, hoping to find another way in. But when she reached the rear entrance, she found it secured as well.
A lump formed in her throat. Frustrated but not yet defeated, she pulled out her phone and quickly dialed Erine’s number. Her hands trembled slightly as she listened to the ringing. After a few moments, a familiar voice answered.
"Hello?"
Relief flooded Micay at the sound. "Aunt Erine."
"Micay! Are you alright?" Concern was evident in Erine’s voice.
Micay swallowed hard, trying to steady her emotions. "I’m fine, Aunt."
"Please, be patient with your brother," Erine urged gently. "Let me speak to him. I’ll explain everything to him."
"Alright… but that’s not the only reason I came here—"
Before she could finish her sentence, a sharp, angry voice cut in.
"Are you still here? Or do I have to drag you to the police myself?"
Francis' tone was filled with hostility, sending a cold shiver down Micay’s spine.
She inhaled sharply, gripping the phone tighter. "Can you just listen to me for a second—"
"We have nothing else to talk about," Francis interrupted harshly.
And with that, the line went dead.
Micay pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the blank screen in frustration. Francis had not only ended the call—he had turned off his mother’s phone entirely, ensuring she had no way of reaching them again.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Feeling defeated, she typed out a long message to Erine, explaining everything she had wanted to say in person. After pressing send, she could only hope that Erine would read it.
As she turned to leave, her heart ached. She had come all this way, only to be thrown out like she meant nothing.
---
Inside the house, Erine followed Francis as he stormed back upstairs. He moved with rigid, tense motions, his silence heavier than words. Without acknowledging his mother, he entered Grandpa Orhan’s old bedroom and began organizing the late man’s remaining belongings.
She stood at the doorway for a moment before stepping inside. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she watched her son carefully.
"What have you done, Francis?" she asked softly. "Why did you treat your sister that way?"
Francis froze for a second before continuing his task, his movements slower now. His face remained unreadable as he finally responded.
"She’s not my sister," he muttered, barely above a whisper.
Erine’s chest tightened. "Francis!"
His emotions snapped, and he spun around to face her. "Can you just stop?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying his inner turmoil. "Just stop it!"
She remained silent, watching him carefully as he struggled to control his emotions.
"I don’t care who my real parents are," he finally said.
Erine reached for his hand and pulled him down to sit beside her. She held his gaze, her eyes filled with a quiet determination.
"Listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you," she began.
Francis stiffened but said nothing, waiting.
"When your father, Henry, first arrived here, I knew something felt off about him. When Grandpa Orhan introduced him to me, I didn’t understand why he seemed so interested in me taking care of you. When I found out he wanted me to raise you as my own, I hesitated. I worried about what my parents would say, about how I could explain suddenly having a child without a husband."
Francis frowned, absorbing her words.
Then, she spoke the next sentence, and his entire world tilted.
"I didn’t give birth to you, Francis."
His breath caught. "What?"
She gave him a sad smile. "You were already three months old before I even carried you."
His mind raced. "But… I don’t understand. You don’t have any pregnancy pictures. So does that mean… I’m not—"
"You are," Erine reassured him, squeezing his hand. "Your father arranged for a surrogate, but none of the previous women were compatible. When they finally found the right one, you were conceived through in vitro fertilization before I carried you."
Francis stared at her in disbelief. "Then… who is my real mother?"
She shook her head. "I don’t know. Your father never told me. But he went to great lengths to ensure you would survive."
His mind reeled with the information. Then, another realization struck him, anger creeping into his voice. "Does that mean Louie is my brother?"
Erine sighed. "Only Micay can answer that."
Francis clenched his fists. "Then how did you meet her?"
A nostalgic look crossed Erine’s face. "Your father brought her here once when you were very little. She was just a baby then. You wanted to keep her. You even said you would take care of her until she grew up."
Francis inhaled sharply, realization dawning. "That’s why I felt something when I saw her…"
"There’s still time to talk to her," Erine encouraged gently.
He hesitated. "But Ma…"
"Micay is smart. She’ll understand. And besides, she’s the only one who can answer your other questions."
After a moment, he exhaled deeply. "Alright, Ma. I’ll go see her when I’m done here."
But Erine suddenly turned serious. "No. Don’t go to her."
Francis frowned. "Why not?"
Erine’s next words sent a shiver down his spine.
"This isn’t the right time for Louie and Miguel to know you’re Henry’s son."
His breath caught.
"If they find out… they might kill you too—just like they did to your other siblings."