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It seems like she had another journal, the dates in this were more recent that the one they had found at the cottage.

Not the details, not the specific moments, but the image of her sitting by the window during late afternoons, a pen in hand, the soft sound of it scratching against paper filling the quiet room around her.

He hadn’t really paid attention back then, if he did he would have realized his mother had a lot if journals were she wrote over the years...most of them burnt or thrown away by Keith.

But this one...it was kept in his study.

It was just part of the background noise of his life, something constant and unremarkable.

Now it felt like something else entirely.

Adrien hesitated before flipping it open.

For a brief moment, his grip tightened, as if a part of him understood that whatever was inside would complicate things, not simplify them.

But he opened it anyway.

The handwriting was unmistakable, it was his mother’s.

Soft, elegant, slightly slanted in a careful way, each word placed with intention instead of hastily written down. He stared at it for a moment, the familiarity catching him off guard in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

He could almost hear her voice.

Not clearly, not fully formed, but enough for the echo of it to linger at the back of his mind as his eyes moved across the page.

The entries weren’t dramatic.

They didn’t contain anything that pointed directly to the events that had unfolded. Just simple observations, small thoughts, pieces of a life that once felt normal.

Adrien found himself reading slower than he intended, focusing on certain phrases, certain details that felt too vivid knowing how things ended.

"...Adrien was quiet today, but he stayed near me while I worked. I think he just likes the company, even if he doesn’t say much..."

His chest tightened slightly at that, something subtle but persistent.

He kept reading.

"...Keith has been distant again. I’m not sure if it’s work or something else, but I can feel the shift. I wish he would just talk to me..."

Adrien’s jaw tightened.

He turned the page.

"...I’ve been thinking about the future more lately. Things don’t feel as stable as they used to. I can’t explain it properly, but there’s this constant feeling that something isn’t right..."

His grip on the journal shifted, fingers pressing into the edges as he continued reading.

The entries changed gradually.

The tone shifted.

What started as quiet observations morphed into something heavier, something threaded with unease that became more pronounced with each page.

"...I don’t trust him anymore. I don’t remember when that started, but it’s real now, and I can’t ignore it... I want to leave with my son to some place far away."

Adrien’s breath slowed.

"...If something happens to me, I need someone to know the truth..."

He stopped reading.

The words lay there, unmoving, yet they felt heavier than anything else he had encountered so far.

His gaze lingered on the page as his mind caught up with the implications, the meaning behind them now that he understood what followed.

Fragments of memories surfaced; not entire recollections, but snippets. His mother calling his name from another room. The way she’d smile at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

The warmth of her hand resting momentarily on his shoulder as she walked by.

Adrien exhaled slowly, his grip loosening on the journal as he leaned back in the chair, his gaze unfocused, allowing the pieces to fit together in a way that felt no longer distant or abstract.

But sitting there, holding something else that belonged to her, reading her words in her own handwriting, made it real in a way nothing else had.

His throat tightened.

He swallowed hard, maintaining a controlled expression even as something inside him shifted, something held back for days finally surged forward without restraint.

He closed the journal slowly, his hands resting atop it as he stared down at the cover.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then the first tear fell.

It took him by surprise.

He blinked, his brows knitting slightly together, raising a hand to brush at his cheek as if to dismiss it as nothing.

But it didn’t stop there, another followed.

And another.

His breathing hitched slightly, not loud, not dramatic, but enough for the change to be noticeable, enough to compel him to acknowledge it.

Adrien leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, pressing his hand against his mouth as if to contain it, as if he could force himself back into that controlled state he’d maintained for the past week.

But it didn’t work.

The tears flowed steadily now, quietly and uncontrollably, streaming down his face despite his attempts to wipe them away.

He didn’t make a sound.

Just the soft, uneven rhythm of his breathing and the quiet evidence of everything he had held back slipping through the cracks.

His shoulders tightened slightly, his grip strengthening on the journal as he lowered his head, eyes fixed on the floor as if that would ground him.

It didn’t.

Nothing did.

For the first time since it all happened, there was nothing to distract him, nothing to draw him away from the reality of what he’d lost. Not just his father, but the life he’d once believed in.

The version of his past that felt stable, secure, unshakable.

It was all gone.

And sitting alone in the quiet of the study, his mother’s journal resting in his hands and the weight of everything settling in all at once, Adrien finally let himself feel it.

Not all at once.

Not in a way that overwhelmed him completely.

But enough.

Enough that the tears didn’t cease, no matter how hard he tried to steady his breathing, no matter how tightly he clung to the remaining threads of control.

They fell quietly, steadily, marking the first crack in something that had seemed unbreakable.

And for a long time, he remained there, alone in the dimming light of the study, surrounded only by silence and the weight of memory.