CHAPTER 10
Arga didn't sleep that night.
One sentence kept circling in his head.
“Never tell Damar that Adrian is still alive.”
Adrian was still alive.
His biological father was still alive.
And for twenty-nine years, Arga had never known that man existed.
He stared at Bima's letter lying on the table.
For the first time, Arga understood that his search might never really have been about finding his father.
Bima had known everything.
He had simply chosen to stay silent.
Because maybe, to Bima, being a father didn't require a blood connection.
It was enough to protect him.
Enough to love him.
Enough to make sure Arga stayed alive.
“You haven't slept?”
Raka's voice made Arga turn.
“Not yet.”
Raka sat in the chair across from him.
“Still thinking about Adrian?”
“Adrian, Bima, Mom… all of it.”
Arga rubbed his face.
“I don't even know who I should trust.”
Raka was quiet for a moment.
“Do you trust me?”
Arga looked at him.
“Yeah.”
“Then start there.”
Arga gave him a faint smile.
For the first time that night, he felt a little calmer.
But the calm lasted only a few seconds.
His phone vibrated.
A message came in.
Unknown number.
If you want to know the truth about your birth, come to Bima's old house before sunset. Alone.
Arga showed the message to Raka.
“Don't go.”
“I have to.”
“It could be a trap.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you still want to go?”
Arga stared at the screen.
“Because whoever sent this knows about my birth.”
Raka sighed.
“Then I'm coming with you.”
“They said to come alone.”
“I don't care.”
Arga smiled a little.
“Thanks.”
By late afternoon, they returned to Kalendra.
House Number 17 was gone.
All that remained was an empty lot covered in weeds.
Arga stood there.
This place had once been his home.
The place that might have been the beginning of every secret in his life.
“Here?”
Raka looked at the message.
“Yeah.”
Arga studied his surroundings.
There was no one around.
Only an old tree at the edge of the empty lot.
Beneath it sat a wooden bench that was nearly rotting away.
Arga approached it.
There was a small box beneath the bench.
He picked it up.
The box wasn't locked.
Inside was a cassette and a photograph.
The photograph made Arga freeze.
Bima was holding a baby.
Him.
But this time, Bima wasn't alone.
A young man stood beside him.
Adrian.
Arga stared at the photograph for a long time.
Written on the back were the words:
“Two fathers for one child.”
Something stabbed through Arga's chest.
Bima knew.
Adrian knew.
Sari knew.
He was the only one who knew nothing.
Raka picked up the cassette.
“Do we still have a cassette player?”
Arga nodded.
They took the cassette to an empty house belonging to a local resident, which they rented for a while so they could listen to it.
The cassette began to play.
Bima's voice came through.
“Arga…”
The sound of his voice left Arga speechless.
“If you're hearing this, that means you've found the photograph.”
Bima sounded tired.
“There is something I want to tell you, something I was never able to say to you.”
A long pause followed.
“Adrian is your biological father.”
Arga lowered his head.
“I know that.”
Bima's voice continued.
“But never think that I regret being your father.”
Tears fell from Arga's eyes.
“I have no claim to your blood.”
A pause.
“But I have every right to love you.”
Arga covered his mouth.
Raka lowered his head, giving Arga space.
“I knew that one day you would ask why I let Sari raise you alone.”
Bima's voice grew quieter.
“The answer is that I had to make sure Damar never found you.”
The recording crackled.
Then Bima's voice changed.
“Damar doesn't just want to take you.”
Arga lifted his head.
“He wants to use you.”
The recording went silent for several seconds.
“Because the Wiratama family possesses something that has been passed down from generation to generation.”
Arga frowned.
“And you are its heir.”
The recording crackled again.
“Not because of money.”
Bima's voice was firm.
“But because of a document.”
Arga and Raka exchanged a look.
“That document contains evidence of crimes committed by the Wiratama family many years ago.”
Arga fell silent.
“Adrian is keeping the document.”
Bima drew a breath.
“And Damar is hunting him.”
The recorded voice grew quieter.
“If Adrian is still alive, find him.”
Arga stared at the cassette player.
“He's the only person who can explain who your family really is.”
The recording was almost over.
But before Bima's voice faded away, one final sentence could be heard.
“And Arga…”
A pause.
“Never trust anyone who tells you I died.”
Click.
The cassette stopped.
Arga stared blankly ahead.
“Why would Dad say that?”
Raka didn't answer.
But then they heard a vehicle stop outside.
Arga stood.
A black car.
The door opened.
Damar got out.
Arga recognized him immediately.
“He's here.”
Raka stood.
“Out the back.”
They ran.
But this time, Damar didn't chase them.
He simply stood in front of the house.
“Arga!”
Arga stopped.
Damar looked at him.
“I know what Adrian told you.”
Arga didn't answer.
“He lied.”
“Why should I believe you?”
Damar smiled.
“Because I have proof.”
He pulled out a photograph.
“Bima was never your father.”
Arga clenched his fists.
“I know.”
“No.”
Damar shook his head.
“You don't know everything yet.”
He threw the photograph to the ground.
Arga picked it up.
It showed Bima standing in front of a hospital.
Beside him was an unfamiliar woman.
Arga studied the woman's face.
He felt like he'd seen her before.
“Who is this?”
Damar answered,
“The woman who gave birth to you.”
Arga froze.
“Not Sari.”
Damar looked at him.
“Sari isn't your biological mother.”
Arga's world seemed to collapse.
“Liar.”
“If I'm lying, ask Adrian.”
Arga stared at the photograph.
The woman was holding a baby.
There was a date on the back.
October 12, 1997.
And one name.
Maya.
Arga slowly raised his head.
Maya.
The woman who had just told him that Sari was his biological mother.
The woman who had given him the letter.
The woman who had said Adrian was his biological father.
But now Damar was saying that Maya was his biological mother.
One of them was lying.
Maybe both of them.
Damar smiled faintly.
“Now you're starting to understand.”
Arga gripped the photograph.
“Who is Maya, really?”
Damar didn't answer.
He only said,
“Find out for yourself.”
Then he returned to the car.
Before leaving, he glanced back.
“Oh, one more thing.”
“What?”
“Adrian isn't at his house right now.”
Arga froze.
“Where is he?”
Damar smiled.
“If you want him to stay alive…”
He paused.
“…don't trust Maya.”
The car drove away.
Arga stood in the middle of the road.
Raka approached him.
“Arga…”
Arga didn't answer.
He looked at the photograph of the woman who had been called his mother.
Then he remembered Maya's face.
For the first time, a new question emerged.
Who was Maya, really?
And why was everyone giving him a different story about his birth?
Arga took out his phone.
He tried calling Maya.
Not active.
He tried Adrian.
Not active.
Then a message came in.
Not from an unknown number.
Not from Damar.
Not from Maya.
A number that hadn't appeared in a long time.
Sari's number.
The message contained only one sentence.
“Arga, don't trust Maya. She's not the person who saved you.”
Arga stared at the screen.
His heart began beating faster.
Then a second message came in.
“She was the one who handed you over to them.”
Arga froze.
The past he'd been searching for was drawing closer.
Yet every answer only gave birth to another question.
And now, he was beginning to realize something horrifying.
Maybe for twenty-nine years, everyone around him had been keeping their own lies.
Words of Wisdom
“When everyone has their own version of the truth, our job isn't to choose who speaks most convincingly, but to find evidence that cannot lie.”