Chapter 493: Helen Whitmore Had Always Been Terrible with Directions

Helen Whitmore had always been terrible with directions.

Even in her own neighborhood, taking a different exit could leave her completely lost.

"Mommy, how did you find the way?" her daughter asked, blinking curiously.

Helen froze. "I...just felt like going that way. Tried it and..."

Daniel Whitmore chuckled as he wrapped an arm around his wife. "Your mother is my compass!"

Both father and daughter assumed it was mere coincidence.

But Helen couldn't help glancing back.

Those winding corridors and hidden pathways seemed imprinted in her memory.

* * *

At the same moment, Connor Hayes accompanied his grandparents on their nostalgic return.

After more than a decade, the main hall remained unchanged.

Marian Davenport's trembling hands caressed each piece of furniture.

"Look, Walter. This vase—it was always Helen's favorite."

She could almost see her daughter standing on tiptoes, carefully polishing the porcelain.

"Little Helen watches fish, picks bamboo leaves, makes wine—who will drink it?"

"Daddy will! Heehee—"

The memory of that laughter remained painfully clear.

Walter Davenport swallowed hard. "We promised we wouldn't cry."

Connor spoke gently, "Grandmother, your eyes have just started healing."

Years of grief had damaged the elderly woman's vision.

Countless specialists had examined her, prescribing endless remedies.

The last traditional-medicine doctor sighed. "Emotional wounds require emotional medicine."

Marian wiped her tears. "You're right. I mustn't cry. What if Helen returns and can't see me?"

The old man forced a smile. "Remember? Whenever little Helen cried, your eyes would redden too."

"Of course. And you always scolded her with that stern face."

Over twenty years without a single clue.

Others urged them to move on.

But the elderly couple never wavered in their belief—

Their daughter would come home.