“Nathaniel…”
Mark’s eyes turned red, his voice quivering. “Are you saying I’m jealous? That I mocked your father’s death and withheld your living expenses?”
I clenched my fists. “Stop pretending.”
I lunged toward him, but my mother shoved me back with force.
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” she shouted, pointing a trembling finger at me.
“It was your father who took Mark’s position! Do you think he wanted to be a single father, reduced to taking orders as a caregiver?
“He was the one who wronged Mark. I was just compensating for that. Why does he have to be so petty about it?”
I hit the floor hard, but I didn’t wince. Gritting my teeth, I looked up.
“It wasn’t Dad who owed him,” I said coldly. “You did.”
“What did you say?” Her eyes narrowed, her voice lowering dangerously.
I met her gaze without flinching.
“To help the Vaughn family, you accepted a political marriage with the Gray family. You gave up your so-called 'true love.' But that was your choice—not Dad’s fault.
“If you had any backbone, no one could’ve forced you to marry him.
“You didn’t want the struggle of building a future from nothing, but you also couldn’t let go of your first love. So you buried your guilt, your regret—and you pinned everything on Dad.”
Her lips trembled, her eyes flashing with rage.
“It was never Dad who owed you anything. The one who owes your first love is you—a coward who didn’t dare face the truth about herself.”
Smack!
A hard slap cracked across my face.
My head jerked sideways. I tasted blood.
She stood there, trembling.
I slowly turned my face back and smiled bitterly. “You’re angry because I told the truth, aren’t you?”
Smack!
Another slap.
“Thomas Gray raised a monster! You’re nothing like him!” she spat. “What a disgrace!”
And with that, she turned and left—taking her beloved father-son duo with her like I was the shame of the house.
She didn’t even wait for me to speak.
I knelt there, quietly gathering the torn pages of my father’s drawings—what little was left of him.
---
Back at the funeral home, my phone rang.
My mother.
“Nathaniel,” she said sweetly, “I’m sorry. I was just too emotional earlier.”
“I realized… we haven’t held your coming-of-age ceremony yet. I was so busy helping you prepare for the college entrance exams.
“So here’s the plan—the day after tomorrow, I’ve booked a full theater downtown. I’ve invited a reporter to film it. I’ll give you the most thoughtful, meaningful ceremony a son could ever have.”
“I—” I tried to refuse.
But she hung up before I could finish.
I wanted to ignore it. I really did.
But then I looked at my father’s portrait on the urn.
A bitter smile pulled at my lips.
A news reporter? Perfect.
Let’s tell the whole world, live on camera, how my father died.
---
The day arrived.
I stepped out of the car, carrying my father’s urn in my arms.
The downtown venue loomed in front of me, beautifully decorated.
But then I looked up.
And froze.
[Congratulations to Baby Shawn on Getting Into Stanford University!]
My knees nearly buckled.
My mother stood at the door, beaming. “Why are you just standing there? Come in, quick.”
I stared at her. “Didn’t you say this was my coming-of-age ceremony?”
She waved it off. “Oh, stop it. Coming-of-age ceremonies can be held anytime. But Shawn? His big moment only happens once.
“You two—father and son—you’re always so dramatic. If I hadn’t used this excuse, would you have even shown up?”
Then, casually, as if it were nothing: “By the way, where’s your father? He’s such a good singer. He should be up there performing a celebration song for Shawn.”
A gust of wind blew.
The black cloth covering the urn slipped off, revealing my father’s portrait.
She stared.
Her face drained of color.
“What… what do you mean by this? Is Thomas really trying to ruin Shawn’s big day?!”
“Mom—”
Crash!
She slapped the urn out of my hands.
It hit the pavement with a sickening thud.
The porcelain shattered.
Ashes scattered like dust in the wind.
