Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 226: A glimpse of the past

I remember asking Thorne to uncover the truth about my mother’s time here—the life she led before I was born, before fate wove me into her story. I had always wondered, always felt the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on me. What had her days been like in this place? What dreams had she left behind when she chose me? Now, it seems the answers are right in front of me, unfolding in real time like the delicate petals of a flower finally revealing its core.

A soft shuffle of footsteps along the garden’s stone path draws my attention. My breath stills as I watch an elderly woman, frail and weathered by time, being carefully guided by a pair of young servants. The garden, usually so vibrant and full of life, seems to hush in reverence for her arrival. Each step she takes feels deliberate, as though every movement carries the weight of countless memories.

The woman’s back is slightly hunched, her thin frame draped in layers of soft fabric that whisper with every shift. Her silver hair is neatly braided and pinned back, though a few wisps escape, framing a face etched with deep lines. Wrinkles that speak of laughter shared, tears shed, and decades of stories lived. The sands of time have worn her down, but there’s a quiet strength in her tired eyes, a glimmer that refuses to be dimmed by age.

My heart tightens. I already know who she is.

She reaches the stone bench beside me and settles down with a sigh, her hands trembling as they smooth the folds of her shawl across her lap. For a moment, I can’t bring myself to speak. I simply watch her, this living connection to my mother’s past, to a time I never knew. The questions I’ve carried for so long suddenly feel too large, too overwhelming.

A gentle giggle breaks the stillness, and I glance up to see Thorne holding our daughter, little Mimi, in his arms. He gives me a small nod, stepping away to give me privacy, but remains within my line of sight. Even from a distance, I can see the soft adoration in his gaze as he plays with our child, spinning her gently until she squeals with delight. My heart warms at the sight.

"Such a beautiful family," the old woman’s voice draws me back. It’s soft, almost fragile, like a thread of silk ready to fray, but there’s warmth in it too. freewёbnoνel.com

I meet her gaze, and for a moment, I feel exposed. Vulnerable. She knows—somehow, she knows everything just by looking at me.

"It’s all she ever wanted, you know," she continues, her eyes drifting to Thorne and Mimi. "An ordinary family."

The words hit me harder than I expect. My mother... Mirelle... wanted this? An ordinary family? Not the luxury of court life, not the privileges of nobility, but this—this quiet, simple happiness?

I blink, startled. A familiar, unwelcome thought creeps into my mind, one that has haunted me for as long as I can remember. Did I ruin her life? Had my birth stolen from her the comfort and luxury she could have enjoyed? Would she have been happier if I had never existed?

Before I can spiral any further, a soft, wrinkled hand clasps mine. The touch is gentle but grounding, anchoring me to the present.

"I know that look," the old woman says softly, giving my hand a slight squeeze. "I’ve seen it before."

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight. She doesn’t know me, not really. Yet, in this moment, it feels like she sees straight through me, past the layers of defenses I’ve built over the years. She sees the insecure child I’ve tried to bury, the one who feared that his mother regretted him.

Her eyes soften further, and I realize that this woman—this stranger—was more than just a passing figure in my mother’s life. Most noble parents, especially those entangled in court politics, rarely had time for their children. It was the nannies who stayed through every scraped knee, every tearful nightmare, every moment of joy and sorrow. This woman... she raised my mother. She knew her in ways no one else did.

Her fingers tighten around mine slightly as she begins to speak again, her voice steady despite its fragility.

"I was called to be the princess’s nanny just after I lost my husband and son in a horrible carriage accident," she says softly, her eyes distant as if she’s peering into the past. "My world had crumbled around me. I thought... I thought I would never feel whole again. My heart, my very soul, felt like it had left me the day I lost them."

I watch her intently, feeling a lump form in my throat. The pain in her voice is palpable, echoing something deep within me. Loss recognizes loss.

"I planned to refuse," she continues, a faint smile ghosting her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Concubine Danielle was known for many things—her beauty, her ambition—but kindness was never one of them. I thought serving in her household would only deepen my grief."

She pauses, her gaze turning wistful. "But then... then I held her."

Her voice softens, growing tender with memory. "Mirelle. She was so small, so delicate. And when I held her in my arms for the first time, something within me stirred. It was as if, for the first time in months, my heart remembered how to beat. I fell in love with that little girl in an instant, and somehow, the pain I thought had consumed me entirely... eased."

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she offers me a gentle smile. "I chose to stay."

I feel my own eyes burning, my chest tight with emotion. This woman had given up her chance to grieve in solitude, to mourn her family, because of my mother. She stayed, not out of duty, but out of love.

"She was my world," the old woman whispers, voice cracking slightly. "And I would do it all over again."

I swallow hard, my mind swirling with questions. What was my mother like as a child? What dreams did she have before life forced her to flee? Why did she never tell me any of this?

But most of all, one question echoes louder than the rest:

Did she regret me?

And somehow, I know this woman, the one who held my mother’s hand through her childhood, has

the answer I’ve been searching for my entire life.