The Billionaire’s Son Saw Again in Our Old Cottage – A Year Later, a Luxury Car Returned for the Mysterious Remedy

‘Alicia, are you awake? There’s someone outside.’ Gran’s voice was a trembling whisper, slicing through the darkness of our draughty cottage. I sat bolt upright in bed, heart thumping, as headlights swept across the peeling wallpaper. It was nearly midnight. Who in their right mind would come to our door at this hour, in the middle of October, with the wind howling off the fells and rain lashing the windows?

I crept to the window, peering through the threadbare curtains. A black Mercedes – the kind you only see in London or on telly – idled on the gravel. The engine purred, incongruous against the chorus of sheep and distant owls. Then, a tall figure stepped out, umbrella snapping open, and strode towards our porch. My breath caught. I recognised that walk, even after a year. Edward.

The last time I’d seen Edward, he’d been clutching Gran’s hand, tears streaming down his face as he blinked at the sunlight for the first time in years. He’d come to us blind, desperate, and left with his sight restored – or so it seemed. Now he was back, and he looked… haunted.

Gran opened the door before he could knock. ‘Edward, love, what brings you here at this hour?’

He hesitated, rainwater dripping from his coat. ‘I need your help. Please. It’s about my father.’

I watched as Gran ushered him inside, her face a mask of concern. The fire crackled, throwing shadows across the room. Edward’s eyes darted around, sharp and anxious. ‘He’s ill. The doctors can’t help him. But I remembered what you did for me, Mrs Nowak. The… the remedy.’

Gran’s lips pressed into a thin line. ‘That was a rare thing, Edward. Not something to be handed out lightly.’

He slumped onto the sofa, head in his hands. ‘He’s dying. They say it’s neurological, but nothing works. Please, I’ll do anything. Money’s no object.’

I felt a surge of anger. Money. That’s all people like him ever thought about. But then I remembered the way he’d wept in our kitchen, the way he’d clung to hope when everyone else had given up on him. I sat beside him. ‘Edward, what exactly are you asking for?’

He looked up, eyes shining with desperation. ‘Whatever you gave me. The tincture. I need it for my father. He’s all I have left.’

Gran sighed, her hands twisting in her lap. ‘That remedy was my mother’s. It’s not medicine, not in the way you think. It’s… old. Folk magic, some would say. It doesn’t always work, and it always comes with a price.’

Edward’s jaw tightened. ‘I’ll pay any price. Just tell me what you need.’

I glanced at Gran, remembering the warnings she’d whispered to me as a child. ‘Magic always takes as much as it gives, Alicia. Never forget that.’

But Edward wouldn’t be swayed. He stayed the night, pacing the floor, phoning doctors and lawyers, his voice echoing through the thin walls. I lay awake, listening to the rain and the distant sound of sheep, wondering what we were about to unleash.

The next morning, Gran led Edward into the garden, where the dew clung to the grass like tiny diamonds. She gathered herbs – yarrow, elderflower, something she called ‘witch’s bane’. Edward watched, silent and pale. When she mixed the tincture in the kitchen, the air filled with a sharp, earthy scent. ‘This is all I can do,’ she said, handing him the small glass vial. ‘But remember, Edward, you must give something in return. That’s the rule.’

He nodded, pressing a thick envelope into her hands. ‘For your trouble.’

Gran shook her head. ‘Not money. Something of yourself. A secret, a memory, a promise. That’s the price.’

Edward hesitated, then whispered, ‘I promise to come back. To help you, if you ever need it.’

He left as quickly as he’d come, the Mercedes roaring down the lane, leaving us in silence once more. For weeks, we heard nothing. Then, one evening, a letter arrived. Edward’s father had recovered – miraculously, the doctors said. But Edward… Edward had vanished. His phone disconnected, his flat in Mayfair empty. The tabloids speculated, but no one knew the truth.

Gran grew quieter, her hands shaking as she made tea. ‘Magic always takes its due,’ she murmured. ‘I hope he understood.’

A year passed. The world moved on. But I couldn’t forget Edward – the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d clung to hope. Then, last week, the Mercedes returned. This time, it was Edward’s sister, Imogen. She was frantic, her eyes rimmed red. ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘I need the remedy. Edward’s gone, and Father’s ill again. You’re the only ones who can help.’

Gran refused. ‘No more. The price is too high.’

Imogen broke down, sobbing into her hands. ‘You don’t understand. My family is cursed. Ever since Edward came here, nothing’s been right. Please, just tell me what you did.’

I watched her, torn between pity and fear. What had we done? Had we saved a life, or doomed a family?

That night, I sat by the fire, staring into the flames. Gran joined me, her eyes tired. ‘We can’t play God, Alicia. Some things aren’t meant to be fixed.’

I nodded, but the question gnawed at me. If you had the power to save someone, even at a terrible cost, would you do it? Or is it better to let fate run its course?

I still don’t know the answer. But I wonder – if Edward ever comes back, will he be the same? And if someone knocked on your door, desperate for a miracle, what would you do?

Would you pay the price?