Reborn As Mr. Coldwell's Wife
Chapter 208: The Boy On The Steps

Chapter 208: The Boy On The Steps

FLASHBACK

Little Mason sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, surrounded by his favorite action figures and toy cars. His small hands worked tirelessly to line up his tiny plastic soldiers in a formation, preparing them for the imaginary battle he had in mind.

As he moved a small tank across the carpet, making "pew-pew" sounds, he suddenly felt his throat go dry.

He got to his feet, brushing off the dirt from his clothes, and headed out of his room. The house was quiet, as it often was at this time of day. His mother was probably in the kitchen or doing something downstairs.

Mason walked quietly down the hallway. When he reached the top of the staircase, a sudden loud ring filled the silence, startling him. He froze, listening.

It was the doorbell. His young mind wondered who it could be. They didn’t usually get visitors, and his father and brother wasn’t home yet.

Curiosity sparked, Mason continued down the stairs, his small hand gliding along the banister as he descended, careful not to make too much noise. When he reached the door, he hesitated, glancing around. He didn’t see his mother anywhere, so after a moment, he stood on his tiptoes and slowly turned the knob, pulling the door open.

Standing on the front steps was a boy, a bit taller than Mason, with messy brown hair that fell over his forehead. He had an awkward posture, rocking on his feet, he wore an old jacket that was a size too big, and his shoes looked pretty worn out. The boy’s eyes met Mason’s, and he gave a small, nervous smile.

"Uh... hi," the boy said, glancing around Mason and into the house. "Is... is Margaret Coldwell here?"

Mason tilted his head, not entirely sure how to respond. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get any words out, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Mason, honey, what are you doing?" his mother called from the hallway. He turned to see her standing there, her kind smile lighting up her face as she approached. When her gaze shifted to the boy on the doorstep, her smile faltered, just for a second, before she covered it up with the warm, sweet expression Mason was used to.

"Oh, we’ve got a guest," she said, her voice soft and friendly as she stepped forward, coming to stand beside Mason. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Hello there. young man."

The boy’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked down at his shoes for a moment before finding the courage to look up again. "Uh, yeah, hello... I’m looking for Margaret Coldwell."

Mason looked back and forth between his mother and the boy. His mother smiled again. "Yes, that’s me," she said softly. "Is there something I can help you with? Are you lost, dear?"

The boy swallowed hard, visibly nervous. He fidgeted, his fingers tugging at the hem of his jacket. "My... my name is Hans Beckett," he stammered. "I’m the son of Adrian Beckett, and I’m here because..."

Before he could say anything further, Margaret suddenly acted differently. Her hand tightened on Mason’s shoulder for a moment, before she moved it away, her expression turning into something Mason had never witnessed.

"Mason," she called, her gaze fixed on the boy. "Go back to your room."

Mason blinked up at her, confused and a little hurt by the sudden change in her voice. She had never spoken to him like that before. But he knew better than to argue, so he nodded quietly, giving one last, curious glance at the boy on the doorstep before he turned and headed back up the stairs.

As he walked up, he heard the door close behind him, and he hesitated halfway up. He tiptoed over to the hallway window near the staircase, peeking through a small gap in the curtains. From there, he could just see his mother and the boy standing outside on the front steps.

The boy was talking, his hands moving slightly as he spoke, though Mason couldn’t make out the words. He saw his mother’s face, still holding that cold, hard to read expression. He reached out, touching her hand, his face pleading as he spoke.

But Margaret quickly pulled her hand away, her face blank as she looked him in the eye. The boy’s face dropped, his shoulders slumping, and Mason noticed the way he kept looking up at her, eyes bright with hope, but there was a sadness behind it.

For a moment, Mason felt a strange feeling he couldn’t understand—a kind of sympathy or sadness that he couldn’t quite name. The boy, Hans, looked so... lost, standing there, as if he didn’t know where else to go.

After a moment, Margaret turned, her face set like stone, and made her way back toward the house. Mason quickly moved away from the window, hurrying up the stairs and into his room. He shut the door softly behind him and scrambled back to his toys, trying to make it look as though he hadn’t been watching.

A second later, the door to his room creaked open, and Mason looked up, pretending to be deeply engrossed in arranging his toys. But his mother crossed the room quickly, dropping to her knees beside him and wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Mason," she murmured. She held him close, her hand stroking the back of his head as she whispered softly, "My son... my precious, precious boy..."

Mason felt her warm hug and the gentle way she kissed his face with light pecks. Her fingers combed through his hair, her touch feeling a bit desperate, as though she were holding on to something fragile and precious. He looked up at her and noticed the hint of tears in her eyes, though she tried to smile for him.

She held him close again, her lightly touching his cheek as she whispered, "My son... my beautiful boy..."

Mason nestled into her arms, feeling safe, loved, and protected, but there was a small part of him that was still curious. The image of the boy’s sad face wouldn’t leave him. But for now, his mother’s embrace was enough to make everything feel right again.