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Chapter_251
Yvette, feeling that further explanation would be pointless, chose to remain silent. She continued sipping her coffee, her eyes betraying no emotion.
James, noticing her silence, shifted his gaze toward Michael, who was sneakily glancing at Yvette. The tenderness in James’s eyes softened as he observed his grandson’s hesitant behavior.
“Michael,” James began, his voice gentle, “this is the person you’ve been eager to meet—Siren, or Yvette, as she prefers to be called. You may call her Yvette.”
Yvette, with a small tilt of her head, silently acknowledged the familiarity with which James referred to her. Michael, still hesitant, raised his head briefly to steal a glance at Yvette. His eyes shone with excitement, and his delicate face flushed with a mix of joy and nervousness.
He lowered his gaze again, fingers nervously fidgeting with each other, before speaking in a soft, almost hesitant tone.
“Yvette… I’m Michael,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
James, sensing his grandson’s discomfort, gently patted Michael’s shoulder. He then turned to Yvette with an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, Yvette,” James said. “Michael has… some quirks. He’s always admired your work and has wanted to meet you. I hope you don’t mind.”
Yvette, her gaze calm and unfazed, glanced at Michael for a moment. Her expression held no judgment—just a quiet acceptance. She nodded slightly but said nothing, leaving the air thick with understanding.
James observed Yvette’s demeanor with a hint of admiration. Over the years, many people had looked at Michael with pity or disdain, but Yvette’s calm and neutral gaze was something new. It moved him more than he expected.
Sighing, James looked at Michael, his heart heavy with a deep sadness. “Michael… is…”
Yvette set her coffee cup down gently, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. She met James’s eyes and finished his sentence with quiet clarity.
“Autism,” she said simply.
James paused, blinking in surprise. Then, a faint sorrow appeared on his face as the weight of the truth settled in. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the accuracy of Yvette’s statement.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Michael is… an autistic child.”
Yvette raised an eyebrow slightly, her eyes narrowing as she focused on James’s reaction.
“That’s right,” James continued, his voice tinged with guilt. “But his condition, it… it’s my fault.”
Yvette’s calmness never faltered as she listened, but there was a deep understanding in her eyes.
James continued, his voice growing more somber with each word. “Over twenty years ago, I was deeply immersed in a critical research project. The kind that could change everything. I neglected everything else—my family, my health, even the people closest to me. For three years, I never went home. I was too focused on my work, too obsessed with achieving something great for my country.
“One year, during Christmas, I finally took a day off. My son and daughter-in-law were rushing back home to celebrate, but there was an accident. A car crash. They… they didn’t make it. Michael was the only survivor. He witnessed it all, and the trauma from that day—well, it’s been with him ever since.”
James’s voice faltered, and he struggled to keep his composure. He had never spoken of this to anyone so openly. The weight of his guilt, the realization that his work had indirectly led to the death of his family, had haunted him for years.
Michael, sensing the shift in atmosphere, looked up at his grandfather, confusion clouding his expression. He watched James’s face and, feeling the sorrow in the air, his panic increased.
“Don’t cry… don’t cry,” Michael said, his voice shaky, his small hands awkwardly trying to wipe away the tears he saw on James’s face.
James quickly reassured him, “Don’t worry, Michael. I’m not crying.”
But as Michael, in his childlike innocence, continued to try and comfort him, James’s heart broke a little more. Despite the years of care and attention James had given Michael, his grandson still didn’t fully understand the pain he was carrying.
Yvette, watching the scene unfold, listened as Michael mumbled numbers to himself, his fingers moving rapidly, counting something no one could follow. A thought sparked in her mind, and her eyes glinted with a quiet understanding.
“James,” Yvette said softly, her voice breaking the silence, “All these years, you’ve been consciously guiding Michael’s interests, nurturing his focus, haven’t you?”
James looked at her, surprised that she had picked up on something so subtle. His hand trembled slightly as he gripped his cane, but he nodded.
“Yes,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. “When Michael was seven, I noticed something special. He had an uncanny ability to focus on things, especially physics. It was like he had a natural gift for it. Once he started with his experiments, nothing else mattered. But… I didn’t want him to follow the same path I did. I didn’t want him to grow up consumed by it all. I just wanted him to have a simple, happy life.”
Yvette, her eyes still steady on Michael, gently instructed, “Michael, lift your head.”
James, expecting no response, was caught off guard when, to his astonishment, Michael raised his head, meeting Yvette’s gaze with wide, curious eyes. It was the first time he had listened to someone other than James.
Tears welled up in James’s eyes as he witnessed this small, yet monumental breakthrough. All these years, he had tried and failed to reach Michael. But in that moment, it was as if Michael had taken his first step toward understanding.
Yvette smiled softly, her voice calm and soothing. “How old are you, Michael?”
“Twenty-five,” Michael replied, his voice quieter now, as though speaking too loudly might disrupt the fragile moment.
Yvette nodded thoughtfully, her gaze never leaving Michael. “What did your grandpa do three days ago?”
Without hesitation, Michael responded, “Grandpa got up in the morning and had some soup.”
Yvette waited patiently as Michael continued, listing every detail of the past few days with surprising clarity. His recount was fragmented, but it was more coherent than anyone could have anticipated.
Then, Michael added, almost offhandedly, “Grandpa spent half an hour on the phone with Mary. She said Grandpa was… frivolous.”
James’s face immediately turned red, and he reached out, quickly covering Michael’s mouth with his hand. “Yvette, don’t listen to what he says,” James stammered. “Mary and I—well, we have a strong, simple relationship. She’s just a colleague.”
Yvette, her eyes narrowing with a smile, nodded slowly. “Of course,” she said, her voice light but her gaze piercing.
James, embarrassed, could only mutter a few more words of apology. Yvette, however, seemed to take it all in stride, turning back to Michael with renewed attention.
Her fingers continued to drum on the table as she spoke. “Michael has talents—unique ones, related to his autism. Many people with autism excel in certain areas—like music, numbers, or memory. But Michael… his brilliance lies in physics. Through your guidance all these years, James, he’s developed a complete and distinct thought system. He’s a genius.”
James was stunned by her words. It was the first time anyone had spoken of Michael in such a way. Doctors had always painted a bleak picture of Michael’s future, but Yvette saw something else entirely. She was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that his grandson had something extraordinary within him.
For the first time in years, James felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He didn’t need to hold on to his guilt anymore. His focus, his dedication—it wasn’t for nothing. And none of it mattered if Michael could find his own path, his own way to shine.
It was all thanks to Yvette.
