The man’s wife slowly reaches for the photo.

WIFE: “Why does this look like our old house…?”

The wealthy man sharply pulls it back.

WEALTHY MAN: “Enough.”

But his voice cracks.

The boy takes a step forward.

BOY: “She said you promised you’d come back.”

A long silence.

The wealthy man closes his eyes for a moment.

When he opens them, his arrogance is gone—replaced by fear.

WEALTHY MAN (quietly): “What is your mother’s name?”

The boy answers.

The name hits like a shockwave.

A few guests gasp.

The wife steps back.

WIFE: “No… that’s impossible.”

The wealthy man’s hands begin to shake.

Suddenly, a memory flashes across his face—quick, fragmented:

A rainy night. A woman crying. The same flute playing in the background.

Back in the present, he whispers:

WEALTHY MAN: “I thought… I lost you both.”

The boy’s eyes fill with tears.

BOY: “You didn’t lose us.”

A pause.

Then the boy adds:

BOY: “You left us.”

The wind moves through the garden.

Everything stops.

The wealthy man slowly reaches out toward the boy—

But before he can speak—

A phone rings loudly from inside the mansion.

A servant runs out, panicked.

SERVANT: “Sir… it’s the hospital.”

The wealthy man freezes.

The boy’s face tightens.

The call continues ringing.

And the truth—whatever it is—has not finished revealing itself.