Chapter 222: Hope And Nostalgia (P•S Bonus Chapter)
"He was stacking them, hidden from us in boxes, while I was working three jobs at sixteen to keep us alive," Sacha said in a slightly down tone...
Stan stared at the far wall.
"While we thought they’d forgotten us."
The words landed harder than anything else. Because they had believed it, for years. They had believed nobody had looked for them. Nobody had cared, nobody had remembered. And all along, that had been a lie.
Stan exhaled slowly. It took him a few seconds to trust himself enough to speak.
"I’ll read the letters later."
His voice was calm and controlled.
"The address. Where are they now?"
"Velaris City. Northeast Quarter."
His heart skipped a bit upon hearing Velaris City. From the blurred images of what he could remember, he recalled Mia’s father telling Stan’s parents that he had gotten a better job in Velaris, so he was moving there.
"I’ll text the exact address to you."
The message arrived immediately. Stan glanced at it. His pulse quickened.
"I’m in Velaris City right now."
A pause. Then:
"I can be there within an hour."
There was a bit of silence after that, the small, hopeful silence of a sister who had wanted exactly that answer but hadn’t dared ask for it.
"Stan?"
Her voice was softer now.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I want to come too, but I have a meeting this afternoon that I can’t move, and it’s about a two-hour drive to Velaris City."
"Then I’ll go first," Stan said calmly. The decision came naturally.
"I’ll see them. Then later I’ll come meet you, and we’ll visit together properly."
His throat tightened.
"I just..."
He stopped, then tried again.
"I need to see them, Sacha."
A breath.
"I need to know they’re real."
Another breath.
"That they’re okay." His voice lowered. "That they still remember us."
Sacha laughed through what sounded suspiciously like tears.
"They remember us, Stan."
There was absolute certainty in her voice.
"Every letter."
Stan closed his eyes.
"Every single one."
His chest tightened.
"Mia named her cat after you when she was twelve."
That finally broke through his composure.
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. A short, disbelieving sound.
"They remembered us the whole time."
For several seconds, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full, heavy with everything they had just learned.
He looked down at the screen. The address was still there. Real, after nine years.
"How was your day, sis?"
Sacha laughed. A genuine, unguarded laugh.
"My day?"
"Yeah."
"My day was good."
A pause.
"Actually..." Her voice softened. "My day was the best day I’ve had in nine years."
Stan smiled, a real smile this time.
"Good."
He pushed himself off the wall.
"Get some rest."
"I’ll call you tonight."
"Okay."
A small silence followed. Then:
"Stan?"
"Yeah?"
"Take care."
His eyes closed briefly. The words came easily and without hesitation.
"Take care too, sis."
The call ended.
For a few moments, Stan simply stood there in the corridor. Phone still in hand. Heart beating a little faster than usual.
Nine years. Nine years of believing they had been forgotten. Nine years of believing an entire Chapter of their lives had simply vanished.
And now, suddenly, impossibly.
It was waiting for him less than an hour away.
...
Stan remained in the corridor for a long moment, phone still in his hand. His eyes were closed, his breathing was slow, steady, controlled. But his thoughts were anything but that.
The memories came again; in a small neighborhood park.
Mia sat on a swing, laughing brightly as young Stan pushed her from behind. Her smile was wide and infectious, the kind only children could wear without restraint.
Each time he pushed harder, the swing carried her higher into the air. She would gasp every time, half excitement, half panic, before descending again, only for Stan to send her soaring even higher.
In that memory, seated on a nearby bench, was young Sacha. She watched the two children play with a gentle smile on her face.
"Careful not to injure her, Stan," she called out, amusement coloring her voice.
"She’s the one who said she isn’t scared of high swings anymore," young Stan replied with a foolish grin. "But I’ll try, sis."
The memory was fragmented.
And there were countless others.
In another, Mia’s broad-shouldered father carried him home on his shoulders after he’d scraped his knee.
The man kept teasing him relentlessly, poking at his ribs until Stan couldn’t stop laughing. Jealous of the attention, Mia trotted alongside them and demanded to be teased too.
Then there was Mia’s mother, always insisting that he and Sacha stay for dinner.
Almost every warm memory from that period of his life seemed to lead back to that family.
"Good old days..." he sighed.
Those were simple moments, small moments. The kind that seemed insignificant while they were happening. The kind that somehow became priceless years later.
The brightest parts of his childhood.
For years, he’d convinced himself he didn’t think about them anymore, that he’d moved on.
That the past belonged where it was; buried, finished, untouchable. Dragging old memories into the present accomplished nothing.
That was what he’d told himself.
What he’d repeated often enough that he’d almost believed it.
Almost.
Now he understood the truth.
He hadn’t moved on, not really.
He had simply learned how to live around the absence.
There was a difference.
For nine years, he had carried that missing piece without ever admitting how much space it occupied inside him.
Nine years of assuming they had forgotten. Nine years of believing that Chapter of his life had ended forever.
And now, suddenly, impossibly, he knew better.
They had remembered.
Every birthday...
Every holiday, every year, they had remembered.
Stan opened his eyes.
The address Sacha had sent was still glowing on the screen.
A real address, a real place.
For the first time in nearly a decade, the distance between him and that lost part of his life could be measured in miles instead of years.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned toward the elevators.
His pace was calm and purposeful. After all, he knew exactly where he was going.
The elevator doors opened.
He stepped inside.
The doors slid shut.
Down below, waiting in the parking structure, sat the Huracán.
Across town, in the northeast quarter of Velaris City, waited a family he had once believed was lost to him forever.
Thirty minutes of driving.
Nine years of silence.
And for the first time in a very long time, Stan found himself looking forward to what came next with something he had almost forgotten how to feel: hope.
