Yearning yearn

Chapter 4

Carson leaned back in his car seat, a stack of documents on his lap as he flipped through the pages. Beside him, the little girl played quietly with her toy. His eyes skimmed the papers, but his mind elsewhere.

He thought of the woman he had met twenty minutes ago; she seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite picture where he had seen her.

Just as he thought about her, his driver’s voice cut in.

“Sir… we’re here,” the driver said quietly.

He opened the door and reached his hand to help the little girl.

“Okay, be careful,” he said softly to the little girl.

The little girl reached for his hand and tried to jump down, but Carson held on to her, keeping her suspended in the air for a moment. He carefully lowered her to the ground, her hand still tightly held against his.

They had stopped at a driveway where trimmed leaves sat beautifully between the entryway. He got to the front and was about to input the pin when the door suddenly opened.

A beautiful woman walked out in a red dress.

“Mummy, Mummy!” The little girl dashed toward her, forgetting that her hand was being held by Carson, and hugged the woman.

She squatted down.

“Mummy missed her little girl,” she said, looking at the little girl and fixing her hair properly.

She stood up and called from the house, “Mary! Mary! Come get Anne.”

A slender-looking woman rushed out and took her. She held her bag, and they went back inside.

“Why is she back this early?” the beautiful woman asked.

“A minor issue occurred; I had to bring her back,” Carson said.

“What minor issue?” she asked.

Carson contemplated whether to tell her the truth or lie. He finally decided to lie.

“She fell down, and she seemed to be hurting, so I brought her back.”

His face didn’t show any other emotion except concern.

“That’s good then,” she said.

He turned to leave when the woman asked,

“Aren’t you coming in?”

“I still have work to do,” he replied.

“Carson, have you talked to Mom and Dad?” she asked.

Carson paused.

“Grace, you know the answer to that question,” he replied and kept walking.

“They keep asking about you. When are you going to see them?”

Carson didn’t reply and kept walking.

“You can’t keep avoiding them, Carson!” Grace shouted after him.

She stood there, folded her arms, and watched as Carson returned to the car. She sighed and went into her house.

“Sir, where to?” the driver asked.

He gave no answer.

The car remained still, parked in front of Grace’s house—the driveway. He sat and thought of what his sister had just said.

“…Home,” he said.

The driver started the car, and immediately they drove off. The driver didn’t ask where, but he knew exactly what Carson meant. Carson returned to the documents he was reviewing.

The car came to a massive gate,and at the side was a gatehouse where an old man peered through the window.The driver wound his window down, and the old man leaned forward, peeping through as his eyes landed on Carson.

Surprise filled his eyes, his mouth falling open as he quickly pressed a button and the gate slid open.

They came to an entryway where it stretched out in an elegant symmetry, designed to impress from first glance. A wide, pale stone driveway unfolded like a royal carpet, guiding visitors gently into the house.the path was long and graceful lines with perfectly trimmed hedges and slender cypress tress.

At the center laid a circular garden —lush green island of sculpted bushes and flowering shrubs, encircled by smooth marble paving. The driveway curved around it, allowing cars to glide forward.

“We’re here, sir,” the driver said.

When did we get here? he thought.

He felt this atemporal pause. He stared out the window, tracing the blur of familiar shapes. The courtyard appeared through the windshield.

He held the latch and pondered whether to move forward or not. He hadn’t stepped foot here in years. Scared, maybe? It wasn’t that.

He pushed the door open and stepped out. There he was, standing still, gazing at the entrance of the house. A gust of wind swept through him, and immediately his senses awakened. The familiar scent reminded him once again that he was home.

He entered the house and went straight to the dining hall. There, he saw his father and mother already seated and eating.

He stepped into the room, but no sign of care or concern came from either of them. Moving forward, he pulled out a chair and sat down. The maid by the side moved closer, ready to serve him.

“No need,” he said.

“You’ve finally decided to return home,” his mother said, cutting a piece of meat from her plate and chewing slowly.

“Yes, Mom. Grace kept using your names to disturb me, so I had to come,” he replied.

“That’s why?” his mother asked.

“Yes, Mom,” Carson replied.

His father kept eating, showing no interest in their conversation. Then he stood up and left the dining hall. Carson watched as his father walked away, leaving him and his mother behind.

His mother looked at him and sighed. She stood up as well, following her husband into a room, and closed the door quietly behind her.

Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked.

Her voice was calm.

Her husband remained silent, pacing around the room.

“That child…” he had begun, but didn’t finish his sentence. He was angry—furious.

“Sweetie, calm down,” she said softly.

They returned to the dining hall, where Carson was still seated, waiting patiently.

Neither spoke as they walked out, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. They sat down, his mother’s hands on her husband thighs trying to calm him down.

His father’s face was stern, his expression unreadable, and his mother’s eyes glanced softly at Carson.

The father cleared his throat. “It’s been some time since you’ve been with us,” he began carefully. “Your mother and I were thinking… perhaps it’s time we talk about your future.”

Carson lifted his eyes slowly. “My future?” he asked, his tone dry, almost mocking.

“Yes,” his father said, trying to sound composed. “There’s a young woman—her family is respectable. We’ve already spoken with them. It’s a good match.”

Carson let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’ve already spoken with them?”

His father nodded, unsure how to read his expression.

“Not interested!” Carson shouted as he stood up.

“I can’t believe that’s the first thing my so-called parents bring up,” he said, his voice rising, rough with anger.

He broke off, then shook his head. “I’ve seen enough already. I wasn’t really expecting much. I’m only here because of Grace.”

His mother flinched at the edge in his tone. “We only want what’s best for you,” she said softly.

Carson’s gaze hardened. “What’s best for me,” he repeated. “You mean what’s convenient for you.”

No one spoke after that. The sound of the fork falling to the ground clattered steadily between them like a reminder of all the years they had lost.

“Three years, and you people haven’t changed. Not one bit,” Carson said as he walked out.

He returned to the car, where it rolled away from the compound, sunlight spilling across the windshield. It was already mid-afternoon — the kind of heat that made the air shimmer above the road. Carson thoughts were still burning from the argument .

There, he thought, I knew it would end up like this. What was I expecting?

He needed a drink—not something high, just a bit to cool him down.

The streets ahead were calm. A few shops stood quietly on both sides, their umbrellas half -folded, plastic chairs scattered beneath them. A woman was sweeping the front of her stall, dish rising softly in the lights. Only two cars passed in the opposite direction, their engines humming low. It was the same route he always took home, quiet and familiar.

Just then, the car swerved like it had tried to avoid someone—or something.

Thud! The car had hit something.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was trying to avoid the dog,” the driver said unconsciously.

“Are you alright?” Carson asked.

“Yes, sir.” His eyes shaky.

Kon, kon, kon!, kon kon kon! A sudden pounding came from the driver’s side window. The driver still in shock.

He pressed the window control button.

“Are you blind? Are you trying to kill me?”

A female voice snapped at the driver. The driver tried speaking but was instantly cut off by the woman.

Carson, still in the back seat, unbuckled his seatbelt, shoved the door open, and stepped out.

“I’m really sorry,” Carson said quickly, his hand on his forehead, eyes lowered.

“He tried to avoid something but swerved in the wrong direction,” Carson attempted to explain.

“Does it look like I care about that?” the lady said sharply.

Carson wasn’t angry; in fact, he felt sorry—deeply concerned for the woman. He clearly understood how she felt; after all, she had almost died.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “Here, I can pay for all the damages.” He just wanted to make the situation a little easier.

As he spoke, he lifted his gaze—and froze. He instantly realized who she was. The lady who had saved Anne a few hours ago.

“You… you again?” the woman snapped, her eyes narrowing.

Carson blinked, caught off guard.

“You mean to tell me you actually want to end my life?” she said with a short, sarcastic laugh.

“I’m really sorry,” Carson replied calmly. “Please, let me pay for the damages.”

“It’s fine. Just forget it,” she said sharply, her voice tight with anger.

She bent to grab her handbag from the ground and stormed off without another word.

Carson stood there silently, her go.