A Glimpse into the Past

Determined to revisit the place where it all began, Nathan made his way to St. Mary's Orphanage.The familiar sight of St. Mary's Orphanage loomed before Nathan Chase as his car came to a stop on the gravel driveway. The weathered building stood like a relic of the past, its faded brick walls bearing the scars of time. The once-vibrant garden that lined the perimeter had given way to overgrown weeds, their wild tendrils crawling up the fence. Despite its worn exterior, the sight of the orphanage stirred something deep within Nathan—a pull he hadn't felt in years.

He stepped out of his sleek black car, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his polished shoes breaking the silence of the morning. For a moment, he stood still, his gaze locked on the heavy wooden doors that had once symbolized confinement and isolation. Nathan's childhood memories of this place weren't warm or fond, but they were deeply etched into his being. This was the place where he had learned to hide his emotions, to build the walls that now surrounded him.

Taking a deep breath, he approached the doors and pushed them open. The faint creak echoed through the hallway, and the scent of wood polish and damp air filled his nostrils. The dimly lit corridor seemed smaller than he remembered, the worn tiles scuffed from decades of use. Faded photographs of past residents lined the walls, their smiling faces a stark contrast to the lonely boy he had once been.

Nathan's footsteps echoed as he made his way toward the common room. His heart raced—not with fear, but with the weight of unspoken emotions he hadn't addressed in years. Just as he was about to enter, a familiar voice called out from behind him.

"Nathan Chase," said a soft, kind voice.

He turned to see Sister Agnes approaching, her face lighting up with recognition. Time had softened her features, but her kind, knowing eyes were unchanged. She was one of the few people who had shown him kindness during his time at the orphanage, though he had never fully accepted it.

"Sister Agnes," Nathan said, his tone polite but distant.

"It's been so long," she said warmly, clasping his hands in hers. "What brings you back after all these years?"

Nathan forced a small smile, his polished façade firmly in place. "Revisiting old memories," he replied simply.

She studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "Come, let's sit in the common room. The children would love to meet you."

Nathan hesitated but nodded, allowing himself to be led. As they entered the common room, a wave of sound greeted him—children laughing, playing games, and chatting animatedly. The scene was both foreign and familiar, a stark contrast to the silence that had defined his own childhood here. His gaze swept over the group of children, their bright eyes and carefree smiles stirring an uncomfortable pang in his chest.

Sister Agnes gestured for him to sit on a worn-out couch. "You always kept to yourself when you were here," she said, her tone tinged with nostalgia. "But I remember how much you changed the day the Bennett family visited."

Nathan's breath caught at the mention of the name. He leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "You remember them?" he asked, his voice tighter than he intended.

"Of course," she replied, her smile soft. "The father and his two daughters—Claire and Emma, wasn't it? They were such kind souls. Claire especially had a way of brightening up any room."

Nathan's grip on the armrest tightened, his mind flooding with memories. "She… she was special," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sister Agnes gave him a curious look but didn't press further. "It's always a joy to see people like her. She reminded us all that even small acts of kindness can leave a lasting impact."

Nathan didn't respond. His mind had already drifted back to that day all those years ago. He was twelve years old, sitting in the corner of the common room with a book he wasn't reading. Claire, just ten years old, had bounded into the room with an infectious energy. Her auburn hair was tied back in pigtails, and her hazel eyes sparkled with curiosity. Her younger sister, Emma, clung to her hand, shy but smiling.

---

Back in the present, Nathan clenched his fists as the memories washed over him. That brief interaction had been the spark that ignited his obsession. Claire had given him hope, even if she hadn't realized it. She had left an indelible mark on his soul, and he had spent years chasing the shadow of that feeling.

"She's the reason I am who I am today," Nathan said aloud, more to himself than to Sister Agnes.

The nun regarded him with a thoughtful expression, her hands folded in her lap. "You've come a long way, Nathan. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Nathan nodded, though he didn't respond. What he was looking for wasn't just closure—it was Claire. He wouldn't stop until she was a part of his life again.

As Nathan left the orphanage, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the weathered building. He stood by his car for a moment, staring back at the place where it all began. The pain of his past was still there, but it no longer defined him. Instead, it fueled his determination.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Nathan pulled out his phone. A message from Oliver Greene popped up on the screen: Claire's schedule for the next week is ready. Sending details now.

Nathan smirked as he read the message, his resolve hardening. The pieces were falling into place.

"It's time, Claire," he whispered to himself, his voice low and firm. "Time to remind you who you've always belonged to."

The car engine roared to life as he pulled away from the orphanage, his mind already buzzing with plans. Nathan wasn't just revisiting the past—he was rewriting the future. And in his version, Claire would be right where she belonged: by his side.