"Kiefer… where are you?"
The wind carried my mother's voice from across the hill. It tugged at the quiet moment I had carved out for myself by the river. The water shimmered with the fading sunlight, reflecting soft gold against my skin. I sat on a smooth rock with my knees hugged to my chest, watching dragonflies skate across the surface.
This was my favorite spot. A place where I could pretend the world wasn't as quiet and complicated as it really was.
But peace never lasted long.
I looked down at my reflection, the long strands of hair brushing against the water like they belonged in it. "Time to go before Mom panics and makes a scene," I whispered, standing up and brushing off my skirt.
As I jogged toward home, I saw her pacing. When she spotted me, her expression shifted between relief and anger.
"Kit!" she shouted, using the nickname she gave me when I was little. "How many times have I told you not to wander off? You should always stay where I can see you!"
I lowered my head, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Her worry was always wrapped in scolding.
"I was just at the river, Mom. It's not like I ran away to the next town."
But something was different this time. She didn't scold again. Her hands trembled as she took mine, her eyes glassy and distant.
"I need to tell you something," she said. Her voice was softer than I'd ever heard. Serious. Raw.
I frowned. "What's wrong?"
"It's about your father."
My heart stilled. She never talked about him—except to say he was working hard in the city and didn't want to be disturbed.
"Heaven Samuel," I said, almost in disbelief.
She nodded, but she couldn't meet my eyes. "He lives in Town B… with another family."
The world tilted. My ears rang. "Another… what?"
She swallowed hard, voice cracking. "A wife. Children. A life apart from us."
"No," I shook my head. "That can't be true. You said… he was working for us. You told me to be patient… to believe in him."
"I lied," she whispered. "I had to. For you. For your future. You deserved to believe you were loved."
My hands went cold.
"But why now?" I asked, unable to keep the tremble from my voice.
"Because today is your fifteenth birthday. And because…" she looked away for a long moment, then finally met my eyes, "…I'm sick, Kiefer. And I don't know how much time I have left."
Silence settled over us like a sudden winter.
She reached into her apron and pulled out a worn envelope. "This has everything—his name, his address, details about his family. But I want you to promise me something."
"What?" I managed to whisper.
"Don't open it until you've made something of yourself. Until you've become someone strong enough to stand in front of them with pride. Show them you're my daughter. That you didn't need them to become you."
Tears slipped down my cheeks as I clutched the envelope.
"I promise, Mom. I'll make you proud."
That night, after dinner, I helped her wash dishes and pretended everything was normal. But when I went to my room, I sat in the dark, holding the envelope against my chest like it was my heart itself.
All the questions I'd asked over the years... the nights I'd whispered to the stars hoping for my father to visit... they all felt like a cruel joke now. My father—the man I had painted as a silent hero—was a stranger. Worse, a betrayer. And the woman who raised me, who taught me honesty, had lied for years.
Who was I supposed to be now?
I would not let her down.
From that moment, I threw myself into study. I read every book I could get my hands on, not just the ones from school, but old texts, ancient practices, foreign cures. I learned to brew teas that calmed her pain, pressure points that helped her sleep.
I learned because I had to. Because I wouldn't let her die.
But sometimes, even the strongest will can't stop the inevitable.
Years passed. Her coughs deepened. Her body thinned.
"Mom, you have to stay strong," I told her, again and again. "I'll find something. I will heal you. Just hang on."
She smiled weakly, brushing my hair back from my face with trembling fingers.
"Kit… I'm so proud of you. Don't stop dreaming, even if I can't dream with you anymore."
Then… nothing.
Her hand slid from mine. Her breath never came back. Her silence screamed through the house louder than anything I'd ever known.
I screamed for her. For myself. For the part of my soul that died with her that night.
The neighbors helped bury her. I watched the coffin disappear into the earth with dry, burning eyes. I didn't cry—not again. That part of me was done.
I went home—our home—and sat in the room that used to smell like her. That was when I made my second promise:
I'll take revenge for you. For every day you suffered. For the love you lost.
Days later, a knock came at the door. The postman held out a letter addressed to Martha Samuel.
I opened it.
Inside was a check for $500,000. And a letter that read:
> Martha,
Kindly use this money as compensation for all these years of my absence.
Heaven.
Compensation?
Is that what my mother's life meant to him? A number? A gesture after death?
I threw the check across the room, fury consuming me.
"Now he remembers us? After all this time?" I shouted into the walls, into the quiet, into the sky. "You think money can fix the years she cried herself to sleep?"
I stormed into my room, tried to study, tried to calm the fire inside me. But a soft breeze slid under the door. It lifted the check, made it glide across the floor and land by my foot.
I stared at it.
Maybe it wasn't meant to heal. Maybe it wasn't a peace offering.
Maybe it was fuel.
I picked it up slowly, held it in both hands.
"So this is what he thinks we're worth. Fine. I'll use it. Not to forgive—but to rise. We'll fulfill his wish, Mom. But on our terms."
And just like that, my mission gained clarity.
I wouldn't just become a doctor. I'd become the doctor. The one they couldn't deny, the one who would make the name "Kiefer Samuel" echo in the halls of power and pain.
I would find him.
And when I did, he wouldn't know whether to be proud…
…or terrified.