After the eighth time Mom and Dad signed and tore up their divorce papers, something in Dad broke. He stopped asking if Mom was coming home at night. He stopped staring at the faint, sweet-smelling smudges on her collar. Even when my older sister, Lucy, started calling Damian “Daddy,” Dad didn’t flinch. Instead, Dad made a new rule: every time they mentioned Damian’s name in our house, they owed him a hundred grand. After that day, Dad’s phone buzzed constantly with the chimes of bank notifications. When Mom brought up divorce yet again, Dad was eerily quiet. “Damian’s suicidal, Leo,” Mom said, her voice tight with that familiar, exhausting urgency. “I can’t just watch him die.” “But I promise you, we’ll get remarried in thirty days, as soon as the cooling-off period is over.” After they filed the paperwork at the courthouse, Dad sat me down on the edge of his bed and showed me his phone. The account balance was a long, surreal string of numbers. “I’m leaving this place, Tony,” he whispered, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. “Do you want to come with me?” … “Where are you going?” Mom’s voice cut through the quiet bedroom from behind us. Dad quickly slid his phone into his pocket. “Nowhere,” Dad said, his voice flat. “Tony just wanted to get those honey-glazed ribs from the diner downtown.” Mom frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Stop acting like a child, Leo. Today is our anniversary. Let’s all go out together.” I saw the faint, mocking twist of Dad’s lips. So, she actually remembered. But the gold chain Mom had bought for Dad’s anniversary present was already hanging around Damian’s neck. “No, thank you,” Dad said. “Your little assistant will probably throw another fit if we do.” Damian—the man who had supposedly been on the verge of ending his life just hours ago—had been brought back to life by Mom’s soothing words. Right now, he was downstairs, laughing and playing video games with Lucy. But Dad really was different now. In the old days, he would have screamed at Damian, thrown tantrums at Mom and Lucy, pacing the house like a wounded animal caught in a trap. Now, he just quietly took my hand and led me out the front door. By the time we got back, the house was empty. Dad didn’t ask where Mom and Lucy went. He didn’t have to; Damian always made sure he knew. He sent Dad photos—Mom and Lucy holding shopping bags, laughing with Damian in the background. Dad stared at those photos for a long, quiet moment. He looked at Damian’s arm looped through Mom’s, and the bright, unforced smile on Lucy’s face. They looked like a real family. The irony wasn’t lost on me; Mom and Lucy hated taking photos with Dad. Whenever he tried to capture a memory with them, they would turn away, annoyed. Dad typed a comment under Damian’s post: “What a beautiful, perfect family. I’m envious.” They had too many mutual friends. As soon as Dad commented, the social circle erupted. Whispers started circulating, subtle hints that Damian was a homewrecker. It didn’t take long for Mom to call, demanding Dad delete it. “You know Damian’s emotionally unstable right now! Why do you have to provoke him like this?” her voice crackled over the receiver. “Delete the comment, Leo. How is he supposed to hold his head up in public?” She wouldn’t make Damian delete the post, but she demanded Dad erase his truth. This time, Dad didn’t even reply. He just hung up. The next afternoon, Mom finally brought Lucy home. Lucy looked slightly uncomfortable, shifting her weight from foot to foot, but she eventually walked up to Dad. “Dad,” she mumbled. Dad didn’t look up from his tablet. He just pointed to the contract on the coffee table. “You know the rule. A hundred grand.” Lucy stiffened, a look of disgust crossing her young face. “You’ve gotten so transactional. You’re nothing like Damian.” Dad watched the notification ping on his phone as the transfer cleared. He actually smiled. “Make sure you remember that next time, sweetie. Otherwise, your mother’s accounts are going to run dry.” Lucy hadn’t always been this cold. But ever since Damian stepped into our lives, Mom had constantly complained about how ‘unstable’ and ’emotional’ Dad was. Over time, Lucy started seeing him as an anchor dragging the family down. Mom stepped into the living room, her face like stone, thrusting her phone in front of Dad’s eyes. “Is this what you wanted?” On the screen was a photo of Damian in a hospital bed, his wrist wrapped in thick white gauze. “I didn’t force him to cut himself,” Dad said softly. Mom let out a sharp, bitter laugh, grabbing Dad by the jaw, forcing him to look at her. “Who else but you would drive him to this, Leo? Three years ago, during the kidnapping, you were the one who leaked our location to the press. If you hadn’t, Damian wouldn’t be broken like this.” Dad closed his eyes, his voice barely a whisper. “It was a corrupt journalist looking for a payday. It wasn’t me.” “Who else in this world worships money more than you?” Mom hissed, letting go of his jaw. “Lately, all you do is demand cash, demand property, even charging your own stepdaughter for speaking a name. Aren’t you embarrassed by how greedy you’ve become?” I remembered what happened three years ago. We were traveling abroad—Mom, Dad, and Damian. Kidnappers had taken Dad. Damian had offered himself up to swap places with him. Mom had run thirty miles barefoot through the gravel and dirt to reach the embassy to get help. But somehow, the media found out. The leak enraged the kidnappers, and Damian was nearly tortured to death. Mom believed with every fiber of her being that Dad had sold the story to the press. She still blamed him. “If you hate me so much for what happened,” Dad said, his voice cracking, “why won’t you just let me go?” Mom grabbed his wrist, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white. “Because you owe him, Leo. This is your penance.” She paused, her voice shaking with old grief. “I tried to believe you were innocent. But every time I look at Damian, I remember how terrified he was, yet he still traded his life for yours. And I can never forget that while Damian was being tormented by those monsters because of that leak, you were sound asleep on a comfortable chair in the embassy lounge.” Dad’s entire body went rigid. “Dora, I was drugged, I—” “Enough!” Mom cut him off, her eyes flashing with disgust. “I don’t want to hear another word about how you ran thirty miles to save us. It’s pathetic. Do you really think we still believe your lies?” She didn’t believe him. She never would. Instead, she demanded he apologize to Damian. Dad’s pride was the only thing he had left. “Why should I apologize for something I didn’t do?” “Damian almost died because of your greed,” Mom said, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. “And now you’ve got your friends attacking him online. You will apologize, Leo.” Lucy stood on the stairs, looking down at us with cold, detached eyes. “Just apologize, Dad. Damian really is the victim here.” Dad let out a dry, hollow laugh. “And what makes you think I ever would?” Mom slid a black card across the glass table. “I know why you’re hoarding cash, Leo. Your father’s liver cancer is stage four. You need the money for his clinical trials.” She looked at him, completely detached. “Apologize publicly, and this card is yours.” Dad stared at the black card. The silence in the room grew heavy, suffocating. Slowly, agonizingly, Dad bowed his head. Lucy immediately pulled out her phone and started a video call with Damian. “Damian! Dad’s finally going to apologize to you!” Dad watched her jump up and down with joy. He stared at his daughter for a long time. It seemed the only time Lucy ever smiled these days was when Damian was involved. That night, Mom coordinated with her company’s PR department to set up a live-streamed apology. When the news broke, Damian’s friends began posting petty, vindictive messages on social media: “Some people will sell their dignity for a check.” “You reap what you sow. Should’ve thought about the consequences before you ruined someone’s life.” I was so angry reading them that I took Dad’s phone, wanting to fire back. But Dad gently took the phone from my hands and deleted my drafts. “I’ve been dragged through the mud for three years, Tony. A little more won’t kill me.” I looked at him, my throat tight. Dad kissed my forehead. “Once Grandpa’s surgery is done, we’re leaving. For good.” The apology was scheduled for two days later in Damian’s VIP hospital room. Damian lay in bed, offering a weak, saintly smile. “You really didn’t have to do this, Dora. I know Leo didn’t mean to.” Mom’s face remained strict. “He did wrong, Damian. He needs to take accountability.” “Don’t feel bad, Damian,” Lucy added gently. But the moment Mom and Lucy stepped out to speak with the doctor, the mask fell off Damian’s face. “How does it feel, Leo?” Damian whispered, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. “To watch your wife and daughter prefer another man? It must taste like ash.” “So what if you married Dora? Her eyes are only on me now.” Dad’s hands trembled, but he forced himself to stand straight, staring down at the bed. “What’s to stop me from telling the truth on the live stream?” Damian let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Try it. You have all the time in the world to play games. But does your father?” Dad went silent. Grandpa was running out of time. The live stream started right on cue. The chat window flooded with hostile comments: “Is this the piece of garbage who ruined Damian’s life?” “I heard what happened to Damian in captivity… horrifying.” “How does he sleep at night?” Mom stood just out of frame, her eyes cold and watchful. Lucy stood by Damian’s bedside like a loyal little guard. Dad read the script line by line. Every word was a needle pressing into his chest. By the time it was over, I noticed the black ink on the page had smeared from his tears. The moment the camera cut, Lucy threw her arms around Damian. “You’re too good, Damian. You shouldn’t let people like him bully you.” Damian looked up at Mom, his eyes pooling with tears. “Dora, I feel so guilty making Leo do this publicly…” Mom squeezed his hand. “He owed you this.” She threw the black card onto the bedside table, not even looking at Dad. “Take it and get out. You’re an eyesore here.” Dad grabbed the card and ran straight to the billing department. He cleared the outstanding balance just as Grandpa’s vitals were beginning to slip. As the doors to the operating room closed behind Grandpa, Dad finally let out a shuddering breath, leaning against the sterile wall. But barely ten minutes later, the doors swung open, and Grandpa was wheeled back out. Dad panicked, grabbing a nurse. “What’s happening? I paid! Why aren’t you operating?” The nurse looked down, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m so sorry, sir. The administration just ordered Dr. Evans to transfer to the VIP wing immediately to consult on another patient. There’s nothing we can do.” Her words felt like a physical blow to Dad’s chest. “What patient could possibly be more urgent than my father?” “It’s… Mr. Damian. Mrs. Dora demanded Dr. Evans personally handle his care.” Dad’s face went completely pale. “Dr. Evans is the leading specialist in hepatobiliary oncology. My father has terminal liver cancer; no one else can perform this resection. Damian has a superficial wrist wound! Why does he need Dr. Evans?” The nurse lowered her head, voice hushed. “Mrs. Dora just funded a new pediatric wing for the hospital. The board won’t cross her.” Dad’s eyes brimmed with tears, but he forced them back. He marched out to the quiet corridor and called Mom. Her voice came through, sharp and annoyed. “What now, Leo?” “Dora, please. My dad’s surgery can’t wait. Please let Dr. Evans come back—” Mom didn’t even let him finish. “Damian is in a fragile state, Leo. I brought Dr. Evans in to evaluate his psychological distress. Your father’s surgery can be handled by any other surgeon.” Dad’s voice was shaking violently. “Dr. Evans is his primary oncologist! He knows my dad’s chart inside and out! I’m begging you, Dora. Just let him finish the surgery, and I will do whatever you want after. Anything.” Then, Damian’s voice drifted through the receiver in the background. “Dora, it’s so sad that Leo uses his own father’s health to get your attention. There are hundreds of doctors in this hospital, yet he insists on the one specialist you called for me. It’s so transparent.” Mom’s tone turned completely frigid. “Damian is right. I can’t believe you’d stoop this low, Leo. You’re pathetic.” “I’m not lying to you!” Dad cried out. “Please, Dora—” But she was already done listening. “Enough! How many lies do you expect me to swallow? Damian told me you’ve used your father’s illness as an excuse dozens of times before. I guess he was right. You haven’t changed at all.” The line went dead. Dad stood frozen, the phone slipping from his hand as if all the life had been drained from his body. I tugged at the hem of his jacket. “Dad? Grandpa is going to be okay, right?” “Tony, wait here. I’m going to get Dr. Evans.” Dad wiped his face quickly, kneeling down to look at me before turning to run toward the VIP wing. I saw Mom and Lucy take the elevator in the adjacent building, then I ran after Dad. When I rounded the corner, I saw him. Two security guards were blocking him from entering the VIP suite. “Please, just let me see Dora!” Dad pleaded. “Mrs. Dora’s orders,” one guard said flatly. “No one enters without her authorization.” But then, the suite door swung open. It was Damian who stepped out. He looked perfectly fine—not at all like someone in need of emergency psychological intervention by a top oncologist. Dad stared at him. “Tell Dr. Evans to go back. My father is dying.” Damian smiled, pulling Dad gently past the threshold, out of sight of the guards. “But my mind is so troubled, Leo. I need Dr. Evans to sit and talk with me.” “Since tomorrow is the final day of our thirty-day divorce cooling-off period, I might as well tell you the truth,” Damian whispered, his eyes dancing with malice. “Three years ago? The kidnapping, the leak, all of it—I set it up. I had to build a wall between you and Dora. She loved you too much, you see. She didn’t leave any room for me.” Dad’s face shattered. “You’re a monster.” “I just wanted what was mine,” Damian sneered. “And you wouldn’t let go.” Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Damian leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous purr. “Oh, and by the way, your father hasn’t actually received his regular treatments for the last two weeks. He’s not going to make it. A broken family, a dead father… consider this my little gift to you.” With a raw, animalistic cry, Dad grabbed Damian by the hair and slammed his head hard against the drywall.
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