Rebirth: The New Bride Wants A Divorce-Chapter 467: Uncle Gorge

"So this is the house where George and his family lived," Kathrine murmured, her gaze fixed on the quiet two-story building before them.

The paint had faded to a dull cream, the garden overgrown with weeds that had long since claimed the pathway. The place looked abandoned, yet something about it felt heavy—as if it still carried echoes of lives that once filled it with laughter and secrets.

"Yes," Ethan replied, his voice drawing her attention back to him. "But his sister sold it when they decided to move to another country. It was bought by someone else years later."

"Who bought it?" Kathrine asked, still staring at the house.

Ethan shrugged lightly. "The details are confidential. Whoever owns it now made sure to stay out of public records."

That only deepened Kathrine’s unease. She lingered on the house for a few seconds longer, trying to memorize every detail, before Ethan finally started the engine again.

They drove deeper into the neighborhood, away from the main road and into quieter streets lined with aging trees and closely packed houses. The sky had begun to dull, clouds gathering in thick layers as if mirroring the tension sitting in Kathrine’s chest.

"So who exactly are we meeting?" she asked.

"Her name is Cynthia," Ethan said. "She used to be close to George’s family. Lived nearby back then, and she’s still here now."

Kathrine frowned. "You said earlier you couldn’t find anyone."

"I couldn’t—at first." He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Most people had either moved away or refused to talk. But after digging a little deeper, I found her name buried in old community records. Turns out she never left."

"And she agreed to see us?"

"Not exactly," Ethan admitted. "I didn’t tell her everything. Just that we had questions about the past."

The car slowed, then came to a stop in front of a small white house with blue shutters. Unlike the others on the street, this one looked well cared for. Flower pots lined the porch, and warm light glowed behind the curtains.

Kathrine felt a strange sense of anticipation twist in her stomach.

"This is it," Ethan said.

Before either of them could step out, the front door opened.

A young woman stood on the porch, arms crossed loosely over her chest. She looked to be in her early twenties, with dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail and eyes sharp with curiosity.

"You must be Ethan," she called out, her gaze shifting briefly to Kathrine. "And I’m guessing you’re with him."

Ethan blinked, surprised. "Yes. And you are?"

"Gwen," she said, stepping down the porch stairs. "Cynthia’s granddaughter."

Kathrine exchanged a quick glance with Ethan before opening her door and stepping out.

"I wasn’t expecting anyone else," Ethan admitted.

Gwen gave a small, knowing smile. "Grandma told me you were coming. She’s not feeling too well today, so she asked me to talk to you first."

That wasn’t what Ethan had expected.

"Is she okay?" Kathrine asked carefully.

"She’s fine," Gwen replied, though her eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Just... cautious. People don’t usually come asking about George after all these years."

Kathrine’s heart skipped. "So you know him."

"I know of him," Gwen said. "And I know why you’re here."

Ethan stiffened. "Then maybe you should tell us what you know."

Gwen studied them both for a moment, as if weighing how much truth they deserved.

"Come inside," she finally said. "But I should warn you—some things about that family were never meant to be uncovered."

Kathrine hesitated for only a second before following, her footsteps slow and cautious.

The inside of the house smelled faintly of lavender and old books, a comforting scent that contrasted sharply with the tension coiling in her chest.

The living room was modest but warm—soft yellow lamps, crocheted covers on the sofas, framed photographs lining the walls.

Ethan glanced around, his eyes already scanning for anything that might hint at the past.

Gwen gestured for them to sit. "Grandma’s resting upstairs. She asked me to hear you out first."

Kathrine perched on the edge of the sofa, her fingers lacing together. "We’re trying to understand what happened to George family after he and his wife died. Where is his sister and son"

Gwen’s lips pressed into a thin line. "That’s because most of it was buried."

Ethan leaned forward. "Buried how?"

"For starters, they didn’t just leave the country," Gwen said quietly. "That was the official story. The one everyone was told."

Kathrine felt a chill crawl up her spine. "So they disappeared?"

"More like they vanished," Gwen corrected. "One day they were here. The next, the house was empty, their belongings gone. No goodbyes. No explanations."

Ethan exchanged a glance with Kathrine. "But George’s sister sold the house."

"Yes," Gwen said. "Months later. And even that was strange. She came back alone. Didn’t let anyone inside. Just signed the papers and left again."

Kathrine swallowed. "Did Cynthia ever say why?"

Gwen shook her head. "Grandma doesn’t like talking about that family. Every time I asked, she’d change the subject. But I overheard things growing up."

"Like what?" Ethan asked.

Gwen hesitated, then stood and walked toward the wall of photographs. She pulled one frame down carefully and handed it to Kathrine.

The picture showed three children standing in front of the same old house Ethan had pointed out earlier. A boy and girl.

"That’s George," Gwen said, pointing to the boy in the middle. "And that’s his sister."

Kathrine stared at the image, a strange ache forming in her chest. Something about George’s face felt... familiar. Too familiar.

"They were close to my grandmother," Gwen continued. "She used to babysit them sometimes. That’s how she knows so much."

Both Ethan and Kathrine exchanged a glance before their eyes drifted back to the photograph in Kathrine’s hands.

The boy in the picture looked no older than ten, his smile wide and carefree, his eyes bright with a kind of innocence that felt painfully out of place with everything they had just heard.

Kathrine studied his face carefully, trying to imprint every detail into her memory. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"Do you have a picture of him as an adult?" she asked quietly.

Gwen nodded. Without a word, she crossed the room and pulled open a small wooden drawer beneath the photo shelf. From inside, she took out another frame—this one newer, though the edges were worn from age and frequent handling.

"This was taken at his son’s first birthday," Gwen said. "My grandmother was invited. It’s the last photo she ever kept of him."

Kathrine took the frame with trembling fingers.

The moment her eyes fell on the man standing at the center of the picture, her breath caught in her throat.

’Uncle Gorge’