The Lost Son
A wealthy father confronts a haunting past when a stranger returns after 25 years—claiming to have raised his kidnapped child.
By Ubaid Published 4 months ago • 4 min read
The Lost Son- BY:Ubaid
Twenty-five years ago, Seth Majid’s four-year-old son had vanished without a trace.
When the middle-aged man uttered this sentence upon entering Majid’s luxurious mansion, it struck the wealthy businessman like a bomb. His face froze, his eyes widened, and his heart seemed to stop for a moment.
The visitor was not alone; a young man accompanied him. Majid’s servant had already announced their arrival, saying that two strangers wished to meet him. As soon as they entered the drawing room, the older man had spoken those words.
“Yes! Yes, that is true,” Majid said hastily, his voice trembling with both shock and anticipation. “But what do you know about it?”
The man leaned forward. “Do you recall what your son was wearing the day he disappeared? Do you remember if he had anything around his neck?”
Majid’s eyes misted. “Of course, I do. He wore a red and green outfit, and around his neck was a valuable gold locket. The police assumed someone had kidnapped him for the locket, but if that were true, they could have just taken the locket and left the child. I always believed the kidnapper had other motives. But tell me, what do you know?”
“Look at this,” the man replied, reaching into a bag. He placed a folded outfit on the table. It was red and green.
Majid gasped. “This… this is the very same dress! Where did you get it?” His voice shook violently.
“And this,” the man said as he pulled out a golden locket.
Majid almost leapt to his feet. “My God! This is it. This is the very same locket. Tell me now—where did you find these things?”
The man pointed toward the youth standing quietly beside him. “Your son is standing before you.”
“What?” Majid cried, nearly collapsing under the weight of the revelation.
“Yes,” the man said quietly. “I kidnapped him. Twenty-five years ago, I took your child. And today, I return him.”
Majid’s voice hardened. “How can this be? Why after twenty-five years do you suddenly decide to bring him back?”
“Because guilt has eaten me alive,” the man confessed, his face lined with remorse. “I spent years stealing children and selling them to labor camps. But your son—he was different. Something about him touched my heart. I couldn’t let him go. I raised him myself, fed him, clothed him, educated him, even guided him until he finished school. To him, I have always been his father. But the truth never left my conscience. Now, as age creeps upon me, I can no longer carry this burden. Take your son back. If you wish, hand me to the police, or grant me forgiveness.”
Majid’s eyes welled with tears. “For my son’s sake, I can forgive you. But what of the other children you kidnapped? What about their parents?”
The man lowered his gaze. “They are gone, scattered, untraceable. To open those wounds again would only cause more pain. Let this end here.”
But Majid could no longer contain his emotions. He turned to the young man, embraced him tightly, and sobbed. “My son! Your mother died weeping for you. I lived on, though my heart was stone. But today, I find you again.”
The older man wiped his eyes and said, “Seth Sahib, allow me one kindness. I raised him as my own. Please permit me to visit him once in a while—perhaps once a month.”
“You may,” Majid replied gently. “You shall never be barred.”
The tension eased, and dinner was served. The young man, whom the kidnapper had named Hamid, joined them at the table. Majid watched him with both awe and disbelief.
But soon, the doorbell rang. Several police officers entered.
The older man jumped in fear. “Police?”
Majid’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Yes. Do you think I am so naïve? I have lived long enough to recognize a fraud.”
The officers stiffened as Majid narrated the entire story. Then he turned to the young man. “This boy may not even be mine. He brought him here, hoping I would believe it and hand over my wealth. But the truth is, only I can recognize my son. And there is one sign—a black birthmark, raised slightly, under his right shoulder near the armpit. If this boy bears that mark, then he is my son. Otherwise, this is all deception.”
The young man froze. The kidnapper’s face drained of color.
The inspector barked, “Show us! Remove your shirt.”
At first, the young man stood motionless. Finally, a constable stepped forward and yanked off his shirt. Gasps filled the room.
There, exactly where Majid had described, was the raised black mole.
Majid stumbled forward, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It is true… it is my son! My Khawar!” He clutched the young man to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
The inspector turned to Majid. “What about this man? Shall we arrest him?”
Majid wiped his tears. “Let him go. Though he has committed many crimes, today he has performed a great deed—he reunited a father and his son.”
But before anyone could respond, the young man—Khawar—spoke. His voice trembled. “No. Don’t release him. He is not innocent. All my life he deceived me. He never told me I wasn’t his son. Even today, he tried to manipulate me into helping him trick you. He said your wealth would be ours if I played along. He wanted me to pretend to be your lost child. He told me he had once kidnapped a rich man’s son, but sold him off, keeping the locket and clothes for some future scheme. That scheme was today. He is guilty—not only of past crimes, but of trying to make me a criminal as well.”
The inspector’s eyes hardened. He seized the man’s wrist. “So it was all a ploy.”
The man lowered his head in defeat.
Majid pulled Khawar close once more. “You are my son. Nothing can change that now.”
As the officers dragged the kidnapper away, Majid realized that life had granted him both truth and deception in one evening. Yet amid the pain, one undeniable reality remained—after twenty-five long years, he had finally found his lost son.
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