Sir, do you need a maid? I can do anything… my sister is hungry.” His voice trembled, but his eyes flashed with desperation. The baby on the backpack stirred in its sleep, its tiny lips opening and closing as if dreaming of food. Charles Whitmore, a millionaire, was about to enter his mansion when he was suddenly stopped. Strangers often approached his gate—people desperate for work, help, or pity. But there was something different about this young woman that made him stop. It wasn’t just her faded clothes or the stains on her cheek. It was the scar. A small, crescent-shaped
scar on the side of her neck. Charles’s chest tightened, memories flooding back, making him almost choke. “Where did you get it?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended. He unconsciously stroked the skin. “This?” “I was born like this.” Her mind flashed back twenty-one years—a stormy night, a frightened young mother and a baby wrapped in a faded blanket. She had seen that scar before. Charles moved closer, studying her face. “What’s your name?” “Elena,” she said carefully. “And Lily, my sister.” He adjusted the sleeping baby and added, “Our parents are dead. I’ll take any
job. I can clean, cook, anything.” She didn’t answer right away. Reason told her to be careful—to ask more questions, to stay away—but intuition told her this wasn’t just a coincidence. “Come in,” she finally said. Elena hesitated, staring at the massive mansion behind her. “I don’t want to disturb you, sir.” “You won’t,” Charles replied, motioning for her to climb the steps to the entrance. Inside, warmth and light suddenly enveloped her. She clutched Lily’s baby carrier, her eyes sweeping over the crystal chandeliers, the polished marble floors, and the gold-framed paintings. Someone
brought tea, but Elena didn’t taste it. Her eyes fell. Charles looked at her silently before continuing. “Elena… tell me about your parents.” His voice softened. “They died in a car accident when I was twelve. After that, I lived with my stepmother. She wasn’t… nice. I left home at 16. Lily had been born the year before—she was my sister. Her father had died. We had to move around to find work.” Her story was like a puzzle pieced together in Charles’s mind—a puzzle he had hidden from his past, starting with his own sister, Margaret. Margaret disappeared at 19, fleeing a broken relationship and the stifling expectations of her wealthy family. Years later, rumors circulated that she had given birth to a daughter, but every search was in vain. Until now…
Secret of the past
Charles was silent as he stared at Elena. Every word the girl uttered seemed like pieces of a puzzle he had long buried. Margaret… my sister… could it be…?
The emotion in his chest tightened, but he tried to hide the worry behind his cold appearance.
“Elena,” he said calmly, “how old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” she replied.
It felt like Charles had been hit with a hammer. The exact number of years since he had last seen Margaret.
He sighed, then stood up and walked over to the window, covering his mouth with his hand so that he wouldn’t be able to see the tremor.
“Elena,” he asked again, “do you really not know your real mother?”
The girl shook her head.
“I don’t have a clear memory. My stepmother said she died when I was just a baby. I haven’t even seen a picture.”
Charles’s emotions flared. The scar, the age, the mystery of the young woman’s life — all linked to one name: Margaret Whitmore.
But he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t rush.
“Do you have any belongings your mother left behind?” he asked, barely breathing.
“There is… an old blanket. I always carry it with me as a keepsake. Even though it’s faded, I can’t throw it away.”
Elena slowly pulled out of her bag a faded blanket, embroidered with small letters on the corner: M.W.
Charles was devastated. There was no doubt — it was the blanket his brother had bought before he ran away from their family.
His hands shook, but before he could tell the truth, Lily cried behind Elena. The young woman immediately comforted him, fanning him, singing to him like a song of hope.
Charles could do nothing but stare at the scene — a brave young woman, caring for her sister, unaware that her own origins were etched into the walls of that mansion.
“Rest here tonight,” Charles said, hiding the tears in the corners of his eyes. “Tomorrow… I have more questions. And there are answers you’ve probably been searching for a long time.”
Elena was surprised but nodded.
“Thank you very much, Sir. I don’t know how I can repay your kindness.”
But deep down, Charles felt that this wasn’t kindness. This was a return to the past. And with the coming morning, he knew that a journey would begin — revealing a secret that could change their lives forever.
The Secrets Awaken
The next morning, Elena was awakened by sunlight pouring through the curtains. The room where she slept last night was so large that she felt lost; the soft bed made her feel like she was in another world. Lily was still sleeping soundly in the small cradle that the housekeeper had brought.
The door opened slightly. A middle-aged woman, with a stern face but gentle eyes, entered carrying a breakfast tray.
“Miss Elena, Mr. Whitmore invites you to the library when you are ready,” she said softly.
Elena was confused, bowed her head in thanks, and then carried Lily downstairs. The library was large, the walls were covered with books from floor to ceiling. In the middle, Charles was sitting, in front of him was an old wooden box.
“Sit down, Elena. I have something to say,” his voice was low and heavy.
She gently placed Lily beside her, then sat down on the chair opposite. Her heart was pounding.
Charles opened the box and took out a few faded photos. In the photo was a young woman with bright eyes and a gentle smile. At the corner of her lips and on the left side of her neck… a crescent-shaped scar was faintly visible.
Elena was stunned. Just like the scar on her neck.
— This… is my sister, Margaret Whitmore. When she was 19, she left the family, – Charles paused, his voice hoarse, – And I believe… she is your mother.
The atmosphere in the library became heavy. Elena stared at the photo, her hands trembling.
— No… it can’t be. I… never knew. Your Madrasta said that your mother died in an accident…
Charles nodded slowly.
— That’s why I suspected. For years, I searched for traces of Margaret but in vain. There were only rumors that she gave birth to a girl… and then disappeared.
Elena hugged Lily, tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t know if she was crying from happiness at finding her roots or from the painful truth that had just been revealed.
Charles placed his trembling hand on the table.
If it’s true, Elena, you’re not just an orphan. You’re the blood of the Whitmores.
Elena raised her head, bewildered.
But… why do you want to tell me? I’m just a poor girl, looking for a job to support my younger brother…
— No, – Charles interrupted, his eyes shining. – You are family. And if my guess is correct, then everything in this house, all the memories and even the darkness of the Whitmores… belongs to you.
Out in the hallway, Elena suddenly heard the heavy footsteps and hurried whispers of the servants. They stopped when they caught sight of her. A cold feeling ran down her spine – as if her presence had awakened something buried for too long.
Elena’s heart was filled with a yearning for the truth, but also with a glimmer of fear: if she really was Margaret’s daughter, why had the truth been hidden for so many years? Who would benefit from Margaret’s disappearance?
And in Charles’s distant gaze, Elena realized – this was only the beginning
