Chapter 225: Shared Losses (G•T Bonus Chapter)
"Stan... you’ve really grown," Mrs Edith murmured, voice thick with emotion as she pulled back to look at him properly. Her hands lingered on his broad shoulders, as if confirming he was real. "Look at you, so tall, so strong. The boy we knew has become a fine young man."
"I’m so glad to see you and Mia again," Stan replied, his voice low and sincere. Being here, in this modest home filled with genuine care, stirred something deep in his chest.
"Me too, Stan. Me too." Edith’s expression grew heavier. "I heard about the disappearance of your parents from the old neighbors. It broke my heart. And then learning the landlord had kicked you and Sacha out so soon after... Life has been so cruel to you two. We tried everything to find you. We sent letters, left our new address with the landlord and neighbors. When they proved uncooperative, we kept searching, through whatever channels we could. We wanted you both to come live with us here in Velaris. But... it was like you vanished into thin air. I can only imagine how hard those years must have been, with no parents, no support."
Stan’s heart felt heavy, a familiar ache resurfacing. The warmth of the room contrasted sharply with the cold memories her words unearthed. He swallowed. "Do you think my parents are still alive, Aunt?"
A heavy silence blanketed the room. Edith hesitated, her kind eyes clouded with uncertainty. She wanted to offer hope, to say that no seen corpse, no confirmed news, meant possibility, but she couldn’t bring herself to risk reopening wounds that might have finally scarred over.
"Have you had any feedback from them at all since then?" she asked instead, her frown deepening with concern. The strangeness of their disappearance had always lingered.
Stan shook his head slowly, exhaling a long sigh. "Not a single word. No calls, no messages, nothing. I believe they’re gone." His voice was steady, but the acceptance in it carried years of quiet grief.
"I’m really sorry, Stan," Edith whispered, reaching out to squeeze his arm.
"It’s okay. I’m over it... for the most part. I’ve had to be." He offered a small, reassuring smile, though the weight remained in his eyes.
Trying to lighten the air, Stan glanced around the living room again, taking in the framed photos on the wall, many of a younger Mia and a proud-looking man in uniform. "What about Sir Victor? I hope he’s doing well."
Another heavy silence fell, thicker this time. Mia’s shoulders tensed beside him. From the corner of his eye, Stan saw fresh tears welling in her eyes. His stomach dropped.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, frowning.
Edith’s face crumpled with sorrow. Mia looked away, biting her lip.
"Don’t tell me..." Stan’s eyes widened in dawning realization.
"He’s dead," Edith said quietly, voice breaking slightly. "They called him back to duty. He died not long after."
The words landed like stones. Stan remembered now, little Mia’s endless bragging about her father, the strong soldier with big muscular arms who could supposedly fight a million men. It had been the innocent idolization of a child who saw her dad as a hero. Knowing how deeply she had loved and looked up to him, Stan felt a sharp pang of pain for her and Edith.
"I’m so sorry for your loss, Mia... Aunt," he said gently, his voice thick with genuine sorrow. "He was a good man. A strong one."
"It’s... nothing we can change now," Edith replied softly, though her eyes shimmered. She wiped at them quickly. "Let me go warm up some food for you, Stan. You must be hungry after your drive."
With that, she excused herself to the kitchen, leaving a heavy but shared grief hanging in the air.
Stan and Mia moved to the long couch. As they sat, he noticed how Mia’s earlier joy had dimmed, her full figure curling slightly inward with sadness.
The spaghetti-strap gown shifted with her movement, the soft fabric clinging to her curves. Stan sighed deeply, his own losses resonating with hers.
"Don’t be sad, Mia," he said quietly, turning toward her. "Your dad wouldn’t want his bright, beautiful daughter carrying this sorrow forever. He’d want you smiling, living fully, the way you always did."
"You’re right..." Mia whispered, wiping her eyes and forcing a small, trembling smile. "What right do I even have to be sad compared to you? You lost both your mother and father... and you never even got to see them again. We at least got to bury Dad."
Even as she said it, the dam broke again. Fresh sobs shook her. Mia leaned over, resting her head on Stan’s broad shoulder, seeking comfort in his solid presence. Her braided hair brushed against his neck, and he could feel the warmth of her body, the subtle press of her full breast against his arm.
Stan wrapped an arm around her, his large hand patting and rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back. "Shh... It’s okay to feel it. I understand exactly how you feel, that hole that never quite fills. But you’re not alone in it anymore. I’m here now."
Mia nodded against him, her tears soaking lightly into his shirt, but her body relaxed gradually into his side. The closeness brought a quiet intimacy, her curves molding softly against him, the faint tremble of lingering emotion, the shared vulnerability that bridged their lost years.
Not long after, Mrs. Edith emerged from the kitchen carrying a wooden tray with practiced ease. The aroma preceded her, rich, savory, and deeply comforting. On the tray sat a steaming bowl of fluffy white rice, perfectly fluffed and glistening under the warm light, alongside a generous serving of thick, mouth-watering tomato stew.
The stew bubbled invitingly, its deep red hue flecked with onions, peppers, and fragrant spices, crowned with tender, juicy chicken laps that had been slow-cooked until the meat practically fell off the bone. Golden oil shimmered on the surface, carrying hints of thyme, curry, and that unmistakable homemade touch.
