You Were Never Part of My Plan

Sunday afternoons were usually quiet at the Blackwood residence. But this Sunday, Adrian Blackwood had no intention of staying there. He stood in front of the large windows of his office, one hand resting against the edge of his desk, while the city moved far below him. His phone vibrated. A message from his secretary. The foundation representatives have arrived. The orphanage is expecting you at three. Adrian looked at the message for a few seconds before locking his phone. Today was his mother's birthday. It had been years since she had passed away, but the date still carried a strange weight. His mother had always believed that wealth meant little if it couldn't be used to make someone else's life easier. She had supported several charitable organizations during her lifetime. After her death, Adrian had continued some of those initiatives through the Blackwood Group, although he rarely spoke about them. This year, however, he had decided to do something different. The company had partnered with a charitable foundation that worked with children's homes and educational institutions. After reviewing several proposals, one particular orphanage had been selected. The donation would fund a new music room, educational supplies and scholarships for children who wanted to continue their studies after leaving the home. The board had suggested sending representatives. Adrian had refused. He was going himself. Not because the cameras would be there. Not because the company's name would appear on a donation plaque. But because today belonged to his mother. And somehow, doing something she would have appreciated felt like the closest thing to remembering her properly. The orphanage was much smaller than Adrian had imagined. The car stopped outside a modest two-storey building surrounded by an iron fence. There was a small garden in front, with a few swings and a basketball hoop that had clearly seen better days. Adrian stepped out. A foundation representative greeted him at the gate. "Mr. Blackwood. Thank you for coming." Adrian nodded. "How many children?" "Twenty-three currently." "And the music room?" "We've already selected the room. Once the funding is transferred, renovation can begin." Adrian listened quietly as they walked inside. The place wasn't luxurious. The furniture was old, the walls carried years of children's drawings, and somewhere in the building a television was playing softly. Yet there was warmth in the place. Something money couldn't simply buy. A woman from the orphanage approached them with a welcoming smile. "We're very grateful for the donation. The children have been especially excited about the music room." Adrian gave a polite smile. "I'm glad." "We actually have someone who has been teaching them music every Sunday." Adrian glanced at her. "One of the staff?" "No. He's a former resident's friend. He started coming here on Sundays a few months ago." She smiled. "He's very patient with the children." Adrian didn't give the information much thought. Not yet. They continued down the corridor. Then Adrian heard it. A guitar. The sound was soft and imperfect. A few notes were played, followed by a child's voice. "No, no. You're pressing too hard." Adrian slowed. The foundation representative continued walking before realizing Adrian wasn't beside him. "Mr. Blackwood?" Adrian didn't answer immediately. His eyes had moved toward the open doorway. Inside, several children were sitting on the floor with small notebooks in their laps. And in the middle of them sat a young man with a guitar. Ethan Carter. Adrian didn't know his name yet. He only saw him. Ethan sat cross-legged on the floor, the guitar resting comfortably against him. His sleeves were rolled up, and his attention was entirely focused on the little boy sitting opposite him. "Try again," Ethan said. The boy hesitated. "I'll get it wrong." "So?" Ethan smiled. "Getting it wrong is how you learn." The boy carefully placed his fingers on the strings. Ethan adjusted one of them. "Here. Like this." The boy played the chord. It sounded rough. But Ethan's face immediately brightened. "See? You did it." The child looked surprised. "I did?" "You did." The boy grinned. A few other children clapped. Ethan laughed. Adrian remained at the doorway. He wasn't sure why. There was nothing remarkable about what he was seeing. A young man teaching children how to play guitar. That was all. And yet Adrian found himself watching. Perhaps it was the way Ethan spoke to them. There was no impatience in his voice. No forced sweetness. He treated every mistake as though it were something ordinary. Something that could simply be corrected. One of the girls raised her hand. "Ethan, my turn!" "Okay, okay." Ethan laughed. "One at a time." The girl handed him her notebook. "I wrote a song." "You wrote a song?" She nodded proudly. "Can you play it?" Ethan looked at the messy collection of words. "I can try." He placed the notebook beside him and began playing a simple melody. The children gathered closer. Adrian watched silently. For a few seconds, he forgot that he was standing inside an orphanage as the CEO of Blackwood Group. He was simply a man watching someone play a guitar. The melody wasn't complicated. It didn't need to be. There was something sincere about it. Something strangely peaceful. "Ethan!" A small boy suddenly ran into the room. "You came!" Ethan stopped playing and laughed. "I come every Sunday." "I know." The boy immediately sat beside him. "Are you teaching me today?" "After everyone else." "But I want to learn now." "You always want to learn now." "Because you're the best teacher." Ethan shook his head, smiling. "Flattery won't work." "It worked last Sunday." The children burst into laughter. Adrian's gaze lingered on Ethan. Every Sunday. So this wasn't a one-time visit. He came here regularly. Without cameras. Without recognition. Without anyone expecting him to. That was... unusual. "That's Ethan Carter," the woman beside Adrian said quietly. Adrian looked at her. "The one I mentioned. He used to spend a lot of time here when he was younger. He doesn't live here anymore, but he still comes every Sunday." Adrian looked back toward the room. Ethan was now showing the little boy how to hold the guitar properly. "He volunteers?" "Yes." "Does he get paid?" The woman smiled. "No." Adrian said nothing. Inside the room, Ethan suddenly looked toward the window as sunlight fell across the guitar. For a moment, he looked tired. Just for a moment. Then one of the children called his name. "Ethan!" He turned immediately. "What?" "Play that song again!" Ethan laughed. "Again?" "Again!" "Fine." He began playing. Adrian stayed. One minute. Then another. He couldn't explain why. There was no conversation between them. No exchanged glance. No introduction. Ethan didn't even know he was there. Adrian could have walked into the room. He could have introduced himself. Instead, he remained where he was, watching from a distance. Perhaps because something about the scene felt too genuine to interrupt. The woman eventually spoke. "Would you like me to introduce you?" Adrian's eyes remained on Ethan. "No." She looked surprised. Adrian finally turned away. "Let him continue." He walked back toward the corridor. Behind him, the guitar continued to play. Softly. Steadily. Adrian reached the entrance but paused before stepping outside. He glanced back once. Through the open doorway, he could still see Ethan surrounded by children. He didn't know why that image stayed with him. He didn't know anything about the young man. Not his story. Not his dreams. Not why he came here every Sunday. Not even what he sounded like when he wasn't talking to children. He only knew one thing. Ethan Carter. The name had somehow found its way into his thoughts. Outside, the afternoon sun was beginning to fade. Adrian stepped into the car. As the vehicle pulled away from the orphanage, he looked through the window one last time. The building became smaller behind him. Inside it, Ethan continued teaching the children. Completely unaware. Completely untouched by the presence of the man who had been watching him. For Ethan, it had been an ordinary Sunday. Another afternoon. Another guitar lesson. Another promise to return next week. He had no idea that someone had noticed him today. Someone who had entered the orphanage for his mother's memory— and left with a name he hadn't expected to remember.