Doubt And Certainty

ELENA'S POV.

For hours, I stayed in my room with my head bent down in deep thoughts. I lost track of time and just kept staring into space. The information I had received earlier had messed with my mind.

I asked those questions in the hope of getting answers only for me to get the complete opposite. All of it started five years ago, coincidentally the most unfortunate year of my life.

The maid from earlier had said Morris worked as Roland's driver until five years ago. The brothers got into a fight and Morris was fired. How did a mere driver get involved in the fight between his Master and his half-brother?

Maria said he had worked for the Hunts longer, I was sure he knew better than to get in between the two brothers.

"Focus Elena" I muttered to myself.

"None of this is your business, you just need Justin on your side" I further said.

Even if Roland turned out to be the father of my child, it didn't matter. Not anymore.

All I want now is for the truth to be revealed and I want that soon...

JUSTIN'S POV

The file lay open on my desk, the words blurring as I stared at them. Everything seemed ordinary on the surface, but there was an undercurrent—something unsettling, a subtle wrongness I couldn’t put my finger on.

Elena Williams. Her name was bold on the first page, and her story laid bare in black and white. On paper, she was just a woman—a girl, really—whose life unravelled far too soon. Her mother had died young, leaving her in the care of a father and a stepmother who didn’t seem to care enough.

She’d been engaged once, to Jackson Miller. A good match, by all accounts. But that had ended abruptly because out of nowhere, Elena had turned up pregnant—by another man. She was cast out, shamed, and left to fend for herself.

The tragedy didn’t end there. She’d lost the baby after giving birth, and that loss had pushed her over the edge, landing her in a mental hospital.

I exhaled sharply and shut the file, leaning back in my chair. There was something about her story that gnawed at me, something that didn’t sit right. On the surface, she wasn’t someone I would ever consider hiring to look after my son. Her past was too chaotic, too marred by instability.

And yet...

There was a strange pull I felt toward her, an inexplicable sense of trust I couldn’t ignore. It had started the moment I first saw her—at Sophia and Jackson’s wedding, of all places. There was a familiarity in her eyes like I’d seen her before, though I couldn’t place where.

More perplexing was Noah’s reaction. My son was selective, wary of strangers, and guarded in a way that often made him seem older than his years. But with her, it was different. For the first time, he called someone—a stranger, an adult—his friend.

It was almost enough to sway me. Almost.

But I couldn’t risk it. Noah was my world, my only priority, and I couldn’t afford to let sentiment cloud my judgment.

If I was going to let this woman into our lives, I needed more than instinct and a six-year-old’s approval. I needed certainty. Proof that she wasn’t a danger to him.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. Morris stepped in, bowing respectfully. Behind him stood another man.

“This is Dr. Wright, sir,” Morris said.

I nodded. “Leave us.”

Morris left without hesitation, closing the door softly behind him. He had completed the task I gave him: find and bring me the doctor in charge of Elena Williams.

“Please, take a seat,” I said, gesturing to one of the sofas. I joined him there a moment later.

“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Wright said, his voice careful, his eyes scanning the room.

“How long have you worked at Lumina Mental Health Hospital?” I asked, getting straight to the point.

“Over 25 years, sir,” he answered, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He clearly recognized me but didn’t seem to know why he was there.

“Then you must know a patient named Elena Williams,” I said, watching closely. His expression shifted—confusion, then surprise, then back to confusion.

“I have many patients, sir,” he began hesitantly. “I’m not sure—”

Before he could finish, I stood, walked to my desk, and grabbed a stack of photos. Returning, I handed them to him.

“Take a look,” I said.

He flipped through the photos slowly, his face tightening with recognition. “Oh,” he murmured.

“You know her,” I said firmly.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Tell me everything,” I said, leaning forward. “Why she ended up in the mental hospital, what happened to her—everything.”

Dr. Wright placed the photos down carefully. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t share my patients’ information. It’s confidential.”

I sighed and leaned back, crossing my arms. I’d expected this.

Keeping patient's information confidential...

I beat my index finger on my forehead three times before saying. "Dr Wright, your patient has applied for a job at my house, don't you think this interview is necessary to know whether she is fit or not?" I asked him.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair but didn’t respond.

“She has agreed to take any tests or steps required to prove her sanity,” I added, my tone firm.

I handed him my iPad. “Here’s the signed agreement with her consent.”

He took it reluctantly, reading through the contract. His expression gave him away—he was out of reasons to resist.

“So, should I repeat my question,” I said, “or are you ready to talk?”

He exhaled, giving in. “She was admitted years ago by her family,” he began. “She... lost her mind after losing her child. Elena was stubborn, and her early days at the hospital were difficult. She fought every step of the way.”

I nodded, urging him to continue.

“She tried to escape multiple times, convinced her child was still alive.”

I straightened. “Could that be true?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Sir?”

“Could her child still be alive?” I pressed, my voice sharper now.

“Not at all, sir,” he said quickly. “It was confirmed by the doctors—the baby died before delivery.”

“Then why was she so insistent?” I asked, frowning. Wasn't there a way a pregnant woman knows the state of their baby even when they're still inside?

He sighed, choosing his words carefully. “In cases like hers, trauma can distort reality. The mind creates false memories to cope with unbearable pain. She truly believed what she wanted to.”

I nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. It made sense, but something about it still didn’t sit right.

"Like I said Elena was a lot to handle, especially during her first and second year...but she suddenly changed and became obedient." He further said.

"She stopped fighting it, started accepting her treatment without complaint and she maintained it until she was released"

What?