Stranger in my Ass-Chapter 274

Olivia’s POV

The cab pulled up in front of my parents’ house just after eleven PM.

I sat in the back seat for a moment, staring at the porch light, the window where my mother’s plants sat on the sill, the door I’d walked through a thousand times as a child.

Coming here felt like admitting defeat. Like running home to mommy and daddy because the world had gotten too big and scary.

But I needed answers. And they were the only ones who could give them to me.

"Miss?" the driver said gently. "We’re here."

"Right. Sorry." I paid him and climbed out, my legs still a little shaky and hurting.

I walked slowly to the door, mindful of my injury.

I raised my hand to knock, then paused.

What was I even going to say? Hi Mom, hi Dad, remember that fat kid from twenty years ago who I saved from bullies? Well, funny story - he’s been my boss this whole time, and also my anonymous stranger, and also the father of my baby, and also the reason I lost all my memories.

God, my life was a mess. But my parents obviously remembered Maxwell well enough to invite him for lunch, and that explained a lot.

I knocked before I could talk myself out of it.

Footsteps inside. The porch light flickered on, even though it had already been glowing.

The door opened, and my mother stood there in her bathrobe, her reading glasses perched on her nose, a book in her hand.

Her eyes went wide.

"Olivia?" She looked me up and down, taking in my dull appearance. "Sweetie, what are you doing here? Are you okay?"

"I..." My voice cracked. "I came to hear the whole truth."

My mother’s face changed. Something shuttered behind her eyes - fear, maybe, or guilt, or recognition.

"Honey!" she called her husband over her shoulder. "Honey, come here. Now."

My father appeared moments later, dressed in his night clothes.

When he saw me, he froze.

"Liv? What’s wrong? What happened?"

"I remembered," I said, and my voice sounded strange to my own ears. Distant. Like it was coming from someone else. "I remembered everything. About Maxwell Wellington. About that day. About Kennedy going to jail. About the beach house."

The color drained from both their faces.

"Oh, baby," my mother whispered.

"I need you to tell me everything," I continued, stepping inside the house. "No more protecting me. No more keeping secrets because the doctor said it has to come naturally. I need to know exactly what happened. All of it."

My parents exchanged a look - one of those wordless conversations that only people married for decades could have.

Then my father nodded slowly and closed the door behind me.

"Sit down, sweetheart," he said quietly. "This is going to take a while."

I sat on the couch where I’d spent countless evenings as a child, curled up watching movies or reading books.

My mother sat beside me, taking my hand in both of hers.

My father settled into his armchair, watching me.

"Where do you want us to start?" he asked.

"The beginning," I said. "Tell me everything about Maxwell Wellington and what happened twenty years ago. Don’t leave anything out."

My father took a deep breath.

"It started with a beach house," he began, his voice heavy. "The one my father left me when he died. It was the last piece of him I had - the only thing I had to remember him by. We’d spent every summer there when I was growing up. It’s where I proposed to your mother. Where we brought you and Kennedy when you were babies."

He paused, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.

"Mr. Wellington - Maxwell’s father - wanted that property. Had wanted it for years. He’d tried to buy it from my father, offered ridiculous amounts of money, but Dad refused to sell. It was family land. It meant something."

"When Dad died and left it to me, Wellington came sniffing around again. Made me offer after offer. I turned him down every time." My father’s jaw tightened. "He’s a man who’s used to getting what he wants. He doesn’t handle rejection well."

My mother squeezed my hand.

"Then that day happened," she said softly. "When you saved Maxwell from those bullies. When you brought him to our house as your new friend."

"Then you all decided to fight the bullies yourselves, with Kennedy leading the group. But Wellington’s driver found you," my father continued. "Started accusing Kennedy of kidnapping. Making up stories. And those bullies - those kids who’d actually been beating Maxwell - they backed up the lies. Said Kennedy was the one terrorizing the neighborhood."

I closed my eyes, the memories flooding back with painful clarity.

"I was there," I whispered. "I saw it all. I was screaming at them to listen, but nobody cared."

"You were just a child," my mother said, her voice breaking slightly. "You tried so hard to make them understand."

"And Maxwell?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. "What did Maxwell do?"

"Nothing," my father said. "He stood there silent while they dragged your brother away. While Wellington’s men accused Kennedy of assault and kidnapping. Your brother could have gone to prison for years."

"Why?" I demanded. "Why didn’t Maxwell speak up? He knew the truth!"

My father’s expression softened.

"Because his father is a cruel man," he said bluntly. "Maxwell was terrified of his father. Terrified of speaking up. Terrified of going against what Wellington wanted."

"Your father went to the police station," my mother said. "Tried to explain what really happened. Tried to get them to listen to Kennedy’s side of the story. But Wellington had already gotten to them. Had his lawyers there, had those bullies giving statements, had everything arranged."

"That’s when Wellington made his offer," my father said, his voice hollow. "He’d make everything go away. Kennedy would be released, all charges dropped, if I signed over the deed to the beach house."

My heart clenched.

"Dad..."

"But it’s okay sweetheart," mum spoke up. "There’s no need to dwell in the past anymore. Maxwell got the beach house back for us."

"Wh... what?"