Chapter 275

Yannis spoke in a calm, steady voice as he began to recount a long-buried memory from over a decade ago.

Zinnia listened to Yannis’s calm, measured words. Though his tone showed little emotion, she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her chest. Her lips pressed tightly together, her throat constricting as if something was stuck there. Unconsciously, waves of heartache began to spread through her.

“Yannis…” Even though he was the one telling the story, Zinnia’s voice was even more choked than his. Zinnia glanced at Yannis beside her. At some point, his once-straight back had slumped wearily against the chair, his former uprightness replaced by a trace of dejection and fatigue.

Yannis had never told anyone about the events from seventeen years ago. Very few people knew the full story. Most people only knew that when Yannis was finally rescued, he was hovering between life and death, his fingers broken, nails torn out, his calf shattered, and his whole body drenched in blood.

Even without knowing the details, just the sight of him was enough to make their hearts ache for Yannis. Just seeing him like that was heartbreaking, let alone Yannis and Grace, who had to endure it all themselves. James’s tears rolled silently from the corners of his eyes, soaking into the pillow.

“They all think I blame Dad for choosing those kids, but I never did. If it were me, I would’ve made the same choice. Those kids were the hope of dozens of families. Mom and I just weren’t that important in comparison.

“Mom told me not to blame him, and truth be told, I never have.

“But all these years, what’s haunted me is the fear that Dad blames me for not protecting Mom, for letting her sacrifice herself for me.

“Sometimes I wish it had been me who died that day.”

A parent’s love for their child seemed to know no bounds. At seven, Yannis couldn’t protect Grace. All these years, he’d been drowning in regret. He hated himself for not being stronger. He often jolted awake in the dead of night, haunted by memories of his younger self, blaming himself for not being able to protect Grace.

That was why Yannis rarely returned to the Perkins Manor, avoiding Devin, Layla, Raymond, and Yvette. He was terrified of seeing accusing looks in their eyes. He was afraid they would blame him for failing to protect Grace.

Yannis never blamed anyone else for what happened to him, only himself. He hated how weak he’d been as a child, how he couldn’t protect Grace. Sometimes, he honestly wished it had been him who died, and Grace who lived.

“Yannis,” Zinnia said softly, “Grace would never want you to think that way. She gave everything to protect you because all she ever wanted was for you to truly live.”

At his last words, Zinnia’s heart suddenly lurched. She wrapped her arms around Yannis’s neck, gently guiding his head to rest on her shoulder. Just as he always did when she was upset, she softly patted his back in a comforting rhythm.

Yannis said hoarsely, “Her health was always better than mine. Mom was always stronger than me. If she had given up on me, she could’ve found a way to survive. She could’ve held on until Dad came to save her…”

Grace was a military doctor who had survived the battlefield. She was tougher than he was, and she knew how to protect herself. If she wanted to, she could’ve saved her own life, but she didn’t. Instead, she chose to save him. That final pill she gave him drew out the last bit of life in his body, barely keeping him alive until James could reach him. Yannis’s eyes quietly reddened at the corners.

Grace could have survived, but she chose to save her child.

Zinnia gently said, “Yannis, you were Grace’s pride and joy. She risked her life to give you a fighting chance, hoping you’d live well. If she knew you’d been blaming yourself all these years, it would break her heart.

“And if James knew you felt this way, he’d be devastated. He’s already lost Grace. Now you’re all he has left.

“Yannis, do you know why James wasn’t there when you woke up back then? Do you know what Victor told me about it?”

Zinnia spoke in a gentle, soothing tone, her hand patting Yannis’s back in a steady, comforting rhythm. In the silent depths of night, within the hushed hospital room, their intertwined shadows stretched across the cold tile floor.

“What… what did he say?” Yannis’s voice was hoarse, his eyes dull and lifeless, like bottomless pits of darkness swallowing all light. He was like a lost soul wandering alone in darkness, finding no glimmer of light.

Zinnia said softly, “You think he blames you, but it’s the other way around. Victor told me James is the one who’s scared you’d blame him. He couldn’t face you because he was terrified you’d hate him. Seeing you hurt just broke him.

“James blamed himself for failing to protect you and your mom. Victor said that while you were unconscious, James insisted on staying by your side every single day, even when he needed help just to get there.

“But when you were about to wake up, he started hiding from you. Victor also said that every time he looked at your wounds, tears would stream down his face.”

They both assumed the other blamed them. Neither ever considered there might be another explanation. James had doted on Yannis since childhood and loved him more than anything. It was impossible for him to bear to stay away from the boy he cherished. But as James looked at his son, all wrapped up in bandages, he had to face the pain of losing his beloved wife, the agony of seeing his youngest son fighting for his life, and the crushing weight of his own guilt and regret.

For any man who truly loved his wife and child, losing the woman he loved most and seeing his precious boy’s life hanging by a thread before his very eyes was a pain almost too much to bear. Yannis had been such a pampered and precious child, yet that night he was brutally tortured. His small body was left battered and bloody, flesh torn and mangled.

Even battle-hardened soldiers who had faced life and death found it hard to believe a seven-year-old could endure such cruelty. For his father, James, it was utterly devastating. He would have given anything to suffer instead of his child or wife. They said real men didn’t cry, but when the doctors kept handing James the critical condition notice, his eyes turned red with unshed tears, and his hand shook uncontrollably as he signed.

And James had been shot too, right near his heart, in a life-threatening position. Yet, stubborn as ever, he dragged himself to the hospital every single day, refusing to leave Yannis’s side.

Yannis thought James blamed him for not protecting Grace. James, on the other hand, simply didn’t know how to face his son. He was consumed with guilt for having let down both Grace and Yannis. The misunderstanding between them only deepened over time.

Neither of them dared to face the other, so they never truly talked things through. It wasn’t just reluctance. They were afraid of seeing that accusing gaze or hatred in each other’s eyes. That would have been the final breaking point for their already fragile relationship. Yannis’s eyes grew moist and bloodshot.