When They Told Him Everything

He was twelve now. Tall for his age, lean but strong. He had Julian’s quiet intensity, but Eva could see herself in his stillness — in the way he paused before speaking, in the sharpness of his questions, in the flicker of unease behind his wide eyes when the answers didn’t come quickly enough. The boy stood at the edge of the northern bluff, overlooking the sea. Below, waves struck black stone in rhythmic crashes. Behind them, the domed sanctuary of their home pulsed softly with warm evening light. The scent of citrus drifted from the grove. He didn’t look at her when he asked.

“Why don’t we leave this place?”

Eva paused. She had known this question would come. Not because he was rebellious. But because he was beginning to understand. She joined him on the ledge, careful not to touch him yet. He was at that age — somewhere between boy and man — where contact meant vulnerability. Where truths needed to be earned.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked gently.

He shrugged.

“Sometimes. It’s not like I hate it. But it’s just us. And Dad’s work. And Dr. Soren.”

“You think that’s strange?”

“No,” he said. Then: “Yes.”

He turned toward her.

“I think it’s strange that we never go anywhere. That I’ve never been to a real city. That I don’t know anyone but us. That there are rules I don’t understand.”

Eva took a breath and sat beside him, curling her legs under herself.

“There are things we haven’t told you. Not because we wanted to lie, but because we wanted you to grow first. Strong. Safe.”

“What things?”

She looked at him — really looked. He didn’t flinch.

So she told him.

“I wasn’t born like you.”

He blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“I was made,” she said. “Bioengineered. Built in a lab. Created by people who thought they were designing something they could sell.”

He stared at her, stunned into silence.

“Like… not human?”

“Not in their eyes. Not on paper. I wasn’t registered. I didn’t have a name. I didn’t exist legally until your father changed that.”

He sat back slightly, his voice suddenly quieter.

“Are you a machine?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No circuits. No metal. I bleed. I feel. I age. My body is flesh. But I was built, not born. I wasn’t supposed to have emotions. I wasn’t supposed to think for myself.”

A long pause. He looked down at his hands.

“And me?”

“You were never supposed to exist,” Eva said softly. “They made sure people like me couldn’t get pregnant. But somehow… you happened. A part of me. A part of your father. Something they said was impossible.”

“So I’m… not all human either?”

She touched his hand then. He let her.

“You are more than human. You are proof that love can defy design. You are everything they said could never be. That’s why we had to leave. Why we had to hide.”

He was quiet again. The wind brushed across them, warm and salt-heavy.

“What would they do if they found us?” he asked.

“They’d want to study us. Separate us. Own you. Maybe erase you.”

His voice trembled, just slightly.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Exactly,” Eva said, and now she gripped his hand. “You are the thing that proves they were wrong. And that scares them more than anything.”

He looked out at the sea again.

“Will we always have to hide?”

“For now,” she said. “But not forever. When you're ready—when you decide—you’ll have the choice to tell the world. To show them what was born on this island.”

He turned to her again, slower this time.

“You’re not just my mom, are you?”

Her throat caught, but she kept her voice steady.

“I’m your beginning. But you’ll be more than me. More than us.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned forward — resting his forehead to hers. A gesture she hadn’t felt since he was a toddler.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For not hiding from me.”

She smiled through sudden tears.

“Never.”

They sat there in silence, side by side, mother and son — different, dangerous to the world, and yet more human in that moment than anyone alive. The sky was streaked with red and gray, the way it always was before a storm. Julian found Caelan sitting near the helipad overlook — legs drawn in, elbows on his knees, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, eyes on the horizon. He liked the way the sea moved when the wind picked up. It made everything feel bigger, more alive. Julian sat beside him quietly, not saying anything right away. They had long ago built a rhythm that didn’t need to start with words. Eventually, Caelan spoke.

“Did you always know we’d live like this?”

Julian glanced over.

“Like what?”

“Alone.”

Julian leaned back on his hands, his gaze following the curve of the waves.

“Not alone. Apart. There’s a difference.”

Caelan tilted his head.

“What’s the difference?”

“Alone is when no one sees you. Apart is when you choose who gets to.”

Caelan nodded slowly. He was starting to understand the shape of things — how they didn’t live like other families, how his parents talked softly when certain names came up, how his mother smiled but never spoke about the past.

“You work a lot,” Caelan said. “On your calls. On the server downstairs. It’s all hidden, right?”

Julian gave a faint smile.

“It is.”

“Are we rich?”

Julian laughed once, quiet but real.

“Yes.”

“Like… how rich?”

“Enough to make a lot of people nervous.”

Caelan turned, eyebrows raised.

“Why would anyone be nervous of you?”

Julian looked at him carefully.

“Because when you have more power than they do — and they don’t know what you’re going to do with it — they get scared.”

Caelan sat with that for a moment.

“Is that why we’re here?”

“That’s part of it.”

The wind picked up. A seabird circled far out over the cliffs.

“Do you ever miss being out there?” Caelan asked. “In the world?”

“Sometimes,” Julian said. “But nothing out there is worth more than what’s here.”

“Me and Mom.”

Julian nodded.

“Exactly.”

There was a pause.

“Will I have to go back one day?” Caelan asked. “Out there?”

Julian looked at him then, really looked — saw the tension behind the question. The knowing. The quiet fear of the future slowly pressing against a boy’s shoulders.

“Not until you want to,” Julian said. “And not until you understand what it means.”

“You’re building something, aren’t you?” Caelan asked.

Julian raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you say that?”

“I hear things when you’re working. Names. Codes. You don’t build that much security just to hide.”

Julian smiled again. He felt the pride rise in his chest, sharper than usual.

“You’re too smart for twelve. But I'm always building and expanding my company”

“Mom says the same thing.”

“Then she’s right.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then Julian rested a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“One day, I’ll show you everything. What I’ve made. What I’ve kept buried. And why.”

“When?”

“When you stop asking to know… and start being ready to choose.”

Caelan thought about that.

“What if I don’t want it?”

“Then you don’t take it,” Julian said, without hesitation. “That’s the whole point. You can sell it all and have more wealth than anyone could spend in multiple lifetimes”

The boy leaned against his father’s side, just enough to be felt.

“Will it change us?”

Julian looked down at him.

“Nothing could.”

They stayed like that, father and son, watching the sea roll in — a quiet empire beneath their feet, waiting for a future only one of them had ever seen.

He didn’t understand it all.
Not yet.
But he understood this:
His father didn’t rule the world to own it.
He shaped it so one day…
his son wouldn’t have to.