“Then I am, of course, a Lockwood,” Harold Lockwood said. “And who are you? I’ve never seen you in Aurelis before.”
The silver-haired old man looked at Harold and said, “You must be the little rascal, aren’t you? Still so hot-headed after all these years.”
Harold Lockwood froze. This man had just called him “little rascal.” The only person in the world who would ever call him that was his cousin, Edgar.
“Who are you calling a little rascal?” Harold asked, his voice trembling with disbelief. “Who are you?”
The silver-haired man replied, “I am… Edgar Lockwood.”
Edgar Lockwood’s words stunned everyone present. They all knew they were there to attend a memorial for the fiftieth anniversary of Edgar Lockwood’s death. The man who was supposed to be dead had just returned.
Everyone stared in astonishment, their gazes shifting from the old man to the family matriarch, Grace Lockwood.
They were waiting for a confirmation from Grace, to know if this was truly Edgar Lockwood.
After all, how could a man who had been dead for fifty years suddenly reappear, alive and well?
Grace Lockwood looked at Edgar Lockwood. It had been fifty years since she had last seen him.
She remembered the day he left. She had warned him about the rampant bandits, telling him to be careful while transporting the supplies. She had told him that she and their son would be waiting for him at home.
He had held their son so tightly, even asking her to promise she would take good care of him.
How could he abandon her and their son for fifty years?
Grace and Edgar locked eyes, neither saying a word. It was as if a lifetime passed in that single glance.
Suddenly, Edgar’s grandson, Simon, shoved all the memorial items off the table.

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