My greedy brother demanded the family home I’d inherited from our late dad. But less than 24 hours later, he called me in tears and begged me to take it back. Something behind those walls had shaken him to his core and I knew exactly what it was.
The day Dad’s laughter faded from our home was the day my world lost its color. For years, I watched helplessly as illness slowly dimmed the light in his eyes, and my hands used to shake as I spooned soup into his mouth or adjusted his pillows. In those final moments, as I held his frail hand and whispered “I love you,” I felt a piece of my heart crumble away.
The house echoed with memories of better days, but also with the glaring absence of my brother Kyle, who couldn’t be bothered to say goodbye. The day Dad died, I sat alone in the hospital room, holding his hand as the monitors flatlined. The silence that followed was deafening.
I wanted to scream and rage against the unfairness of it all. But I just sat there numb as tears streamed down my face. “I’ll miss you, Dad,” I whispered.
“I hope I made you proud.”
As I left the hospital that day, I felt like I was leaving a part of myself behind. The world seemed duller and less vibrant without Dad in it. I drove home in a daze, a fog of grief enveloping me.
Each familiar street corner and storefront seemed to hold a piece of Dad, triggering a flood of memories that haunted me. The days that followed were a blur of funeral arrangements and well-wishers. I threw myself into the tasks at hand, finding some small comfort in staying busy.
It wasn’t until the reading of the will that I saw Kyle again. He strode into the lawyer’s office, flaunting his expensive suit and polished shoes. Kyle had always been the ambitious one, using Dad’s connections to network and jumpstart his career.
Once he got what he wanted, he vanished like smoke in the wind. While I held Dad’s trembling hand through endless chemo sessions, Kyle’s absence hung in the air like a suffocating cloud. Dad’s eyes would dart hopefully to the door at every sound, but Kyle never appeared.
On those long, dark nights when Dad’s pain was at its worst, and he’d whisper, “I wish both my boys were here,” I’d feel my heart shatter all over again. And when Dad took his final breath, the empty chair beside his bed screamed Kyle’s indifference louder than any words ever could. “Let’s get this over with,” Kyle said, snapping me out of my thoughts, not quite meeting my eyes as he took a seat.
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