Chapter 02

Rowan’s POV

The call came in the middle of the negotiation. My client’s voice faded into the background noise when I saw Dr.Emily’s name flash across my screen. Our family doctor never called without reason. And there was only one reason urgent enough.

Mother.

“You mom…” Dr. Emily’s voice trembled, caught between awe and disbelief. “Rowan, she’s speaking again. After twenty-six years — her voice has returned.

The world tilted. For a breath, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Then I was already dialing Kai, then Sage, words tumbling from me as though speed alone could anchor the impossible. Kai canceled a show in Dubai without hesitation. Sage rescheduled a high-profile case with the kind of tight smile only a family could justify. We converged on the hospital, and three grown men suddenly became boys again, running towards hope.

The hospital air was cool, sterile, humming faintly with the smell of antiseptic and the soft shuffle of nurses’ shoes. It struck me that I’d walked these halls for years, always in silence, always hoping for a voice that never came. Mother’s voice had been stolen from us before we were old enough to even remember its sound.

As we pushed through the glass doors, a small voice broke the spell.

“Kai!”

A boy farted across the lobby, latching onto my younger brother’s wrist with a joy that felt too pure for this place. His wide eyes shone with recognition, though Kai wasn’t just a star to him—there was something deeper, something familiar in the way he clung. His mother trailed behind, her gaze on us uncertain, guarded, as if she stood at the edge of a world she didn’t belong to.

Kai crouched, his usual grin tugging at his mouth despite the tension in his shoulder. “Hey, little man,” he said, handing the boy a wrapped candy from his pocket. The child beamed, but I caught the flicker of confusion in the mother’s eyes—she didn’t react to Kai’s fame, didn’t even seem to know who he was. Strange.

Then a nurse beckoned us down the corridor. Duty pulled us forward.

We entered the private room together, bracing. Mother lay against crisp white pillows, her frame thinner than I remembered, her eyes luminous with something I hadn’t seen in decades: clarity. A nurse adjusted the IV, murmured final checks, then slipped out, leaving us in charged silence.

For a moment we only stared, three sons bound by anticipation, each aching for the same thing.

Her lips parted, trembling with the effort.

“Rowan…” The sound of my name, after all these years, unraveled something inside me I hadn't realized was wound so tight. Tears stung my eyes.

Kai fell to his knees beside her bed, clutching her hand. “Mom… you can talk—”

“Yes,” she whispered, breath shuddering. “My voice… my boys…”

Sage leaned close, his jaw trembling despite the doctor’s calm demeanor he usually maintained. “We’ve waited so long to hear from you.”

Her eyes moved over us, as if memorizing our faces. “I wanted to tell you… so much. I tried, but they took it from me.”

The words carried a fragile weight. They weren't just about illness. They were about loss.

I wanted her to say she loved us. I wanted her to call us her pride, her heart, her sons. And she did—her fingers brushed my cheek, then Kai's, then Sage’s, and her lips curved weakly. “My beautiful boys. You've grown so strong.”

Kai’s shoulders shook. Sage bowed his head, hiding his tears behind his hand. I couldn't look away—I couldn’t blink, afraid that if I did, her voice would vanish again.

And then—her tone shifted, sharpened, cutting through the tenderness.

“Where is your sister?”

The world froze. My heart stuttered.

Sage’s head snapped up, his voice cracking. “What do you mean—sister? We don't have—”

Her fingers dug into the sheets. “You do. The night you were born. I saw them take her. A woman dressed as a nurse. She injected me—something that stole my speech, stole my body. When I woke, she was gone. And so was my daughter.”

A cold tremor ripped through me.

Twenty-six years of silence, and this—this—was what she had been holding inside.

I wanted to argue, to rationalize, to demand proof. But I could still see the terror in her eyes, the conviction etched into every syllable.

Her grip tightened, surprising in its strength. A mother’s command. A mother’s plea.

“Find her,” she whispered again.

The three of us exchanged a look, brothers bound not only by blood, but by a secret suddenly too heavy to leave in that room.

For twenty-six years, silence had been our prison. Now, in a single night, it had given us two impossible gifts: our mother’s voice… and a sister we never knew existed.

And if what she said was true, then someone—somewhere—had stolen her from us.

The air seems to thin, each breath razor-sharp. This wasn't just a family miracle.

It was a crime.

And we would dig until we unearthed it.

No matter who we had to face.

No matter what it costs.