The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
The large mansion that once echoed with laughter and celebration now felt cold and empty. The tall windows allowed the evening light to spill softly across the marble floors, but it did nothing to warm the atmosphere inside.
Mrs. Laurent sat in the living room, her fingers wrapped around a cup of tea that had long gone cold.
Across from her, her husband stood near the window, staring outside as if searching for something he knew he would never find.
"It's been seventeen years," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Laurent didn't turn around.
"I know."
A thick silence settled between them.
On the glass table beside Mrs. Laurent was an old newspaper. The edges had become worn over time, but she had kept it all these years.
Her eyes drifted to the headline once again.
The night their son died.
Louis Laurent.
Their only child.
She swallowed hard.
"We forced that girl to stay," she said quietly.
Her husband finally turned toward her.
"We didn't force her."
She looked up at him sharply.
"We knew our son," she replied. "We knew what he was like."
Mr. Laurent said nothing.
Because she was right.
They had known.
They had known their son was not the man that poor girl believed he was. They had known about his temper… about his secret life… about the pain he brought into that marriage.
Yet they had still encouraged her to stay.
"Do you ever wonder what happened to her?" Mrs. Laurent asked.
Her husband sighed deeply.
"She disappeared after that night."
"And the baby?" she pressed.
That question lingered heavily in the air.
The baby.
Their granddaughter.
Mr. Laurent walked slowly toward the table and picked up the newspaper.
"By now she would be… seventeen."
Mrs. Laurent's eyes filled with quiet emotion.
"She had Louis' eyes," she murmured.
For a moment, both of them stood there, lost in memories they could never change.
Then Mrs. Laurent slowly opened the small drawer of the table beside her.
Inside was a single photograph.
A tiny baby wrapped in a soft blanket.
She had kept it hidden all these years.
"I should have protected them," she whispered.
Mr. Laurent looked at the picture, his expression heavy with regret.
But somewhere out there…
their granddaughter might still be alive.
And neither of them had any idea where she was.