Listening to them feels like flipping through the pages of his life, the boy who became the man I love. I treasure every detail they share. And more than that, I’m grateful to be here, to be welcomed so fully into their world. To be cherished.
“Ah,ma chérie,” Bas says suddenly, breaking the rhythm of their banter. His voice is softer now, almost reverent. “You’re the one.”
I stare, startled. “Pardon?”
He smiles faintly but doesn’t answer me, at least not directly. “I’m glad I met you before it was too late.”
A quiet stillness settles around us. The meaning behind his words presses heavy in my chest.
Alec shifts beside me, his discomfort tangible. Bas releases a smalltsk,the sound equal parts annoyance and fear, a man unwilling to acknowledge how finite time has become.
I lean forward. “Bas…”
His hand flicks in the air as if brushing off the question, his eyes dimmed with something deeper. “Samson has a big heart. So much love to give, even after what this world has thrown at him. Even knowing how he came into it—born of something dark and soul-shattering—is not an easy truth to carry.”
A lump forms in my throat, thick and painful. My pulse stutters. “What are you saying?”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze clear and kind. “Did Samson ever tell you about his mother?”
I nod slowly, recalling the small fragments Sam has shared. “Only that she died just before his second birthday.”
“Mm.” Bas nods again, his expression grave. “Normally, I wouldn’t say anything…it’s his story, not mine, but I’m a dying man.” His mouth quirks into a wry smile, but the sadness in his eyes betrays the gesture. “And I don’t want that boy wasting what time he has left in fear of the truth.”
“Bas.” Alec’s voice is razor-sharp and loaded with warning. “Would you stop it already?”
He leans forward, the strain clear in his expression, and I reach for his hand instinctively, a quiet squeeze of understanding. I get it. He’s angry because he’s scared, because every time Bas talks about dying, it chips off another piece of his heart.
But I also understand Bas. This isn’t cruelty. It’s urgency.
And something tells me what he’s about to say will change everything I thought I knew about Sam.
“I will not sugarcoat this, Alec.” When he looks at me again, there’s a somberness in his gaze, a quiet gravity that warns mehis next words will leave a mark. “Ma chérie, Samson’s mother was a teenager, barely fifteen, when she was raped.”
My stomach plummets to my toes, bile burning its way up my throat as the corners of my eyes prick. I can barely wrap my head around something so horrific.
“The gory details don’t matter. It was life-altering. The man was never caught, and most importantly, Annick Beaulieu was never the same. When she found out she was pregnant, she refused an abortion. She wanted the baby, and Samson was born. She came from a good family, but they had limited resources. She didn’t have access to things that perhaps could’ve helped her…like therapy. A week before Samson’s second birthday, she committed suicide.”
“Oh my God.” The words tumble out in a gasp as I clutch my chest, fighting the swell of tears burning behind my eyes.
The room blurs for a moment until their arms slide around me—Bas’s frail but steady, Alec’s strong and sure—holding me as if I’m the one who needs comforting.
“How do you know all this?” My voice comes out thick and unsteady, my mind reeling.
The story feels too big, too cruel to fit inside the image I have of Sam. He’s light. Joy. Kindness. The man who makes everyone around him feel loved, cherished, seen.
To imagine such goodness came from something so dark, it twists something deep in me. I can’t reconcile it. And I can’t help but wonder how Bas came to know so much, when both Sam’s mother and grandmother were gone long before he entered Sam’s life.
Bas sighs softly, eyes drifting somewhere far away. “I didn’t know Samson’s grandparents, but I knew a family friend, she was very close to his grand-mère. After he came into our lives, I wanted to understand where he came from. I needed to. So I asked questions. Listened.”
His hand trembles slightly as he reaches for his glass, but he doesn’t drink, just holds it, lost in memory. “His mother also left him a letter. A beautiful letter.” The tenderness in his voice makes my throat tighten.
“I never knew Annick. But I wish I had. You could feel her love in every word she wrote to him. She was young and broken by what had happened to her, but she didn’t blame him, not for one second. He was her light in all that darkness. Her boy.” His voice falters, then steadies again. “She only wanted him to have a life untouched by her pain. To be free of it.”
He pauses, eyes distant, a faint smile tugging at his lips as though picturing her letter in his mind. “That letter made all the difference to Samson. It gave him something she couldn’t give him in life—peace.”
Alec nods quietly, eyes glistening.
Bas turns his gaze to me, his expression soft and full of meaning. “He was lucky too. His grandparents were good people. Kind. They raised him with openness and grace, and that shaped him. But it was Samson, his heart, his strength, that carried him through. Even when life knocked him down harder than most could ever endure, he rose. Always does.”
