My tendons were cut, my eyes gouged out, and I was tortured to death. Yet when my father spoke of me, he still cursed. “I never had such a son! It’s better he died out there!” He’d beat me mercilessly with his belt and throw away the health tonics I bought him. In front of the neighbors, he’d slap me hard across the face, roaring at me to get lost. But when my body was brought to him, dressed in a police uniform and adorned with medals carried by my fellow officers, this veteran broke down, wailing uncontrollably. “Son… God, I’m so sorry!” ***** I was dead. My tendons severed, my eyes blinded, my body beaten beyond recognition. The final blow struck my chest, ending my life for good. By the end, staying alive had become the real hell. Every second, I silently begged those two psychos to just finish me off. When the last blade pierced my heart, I barely felt a thing. Hours of agony had numbed me to the pain. Darkness enveloped me, but my soul felt brighter than ever. I knew my message had reached my team. They’d be here soon. This massive drug operation would finally be shut down for good. Ten long years undercover, and my mission was complete at last. Slowly, the cold grip of blood loss faded away. Suddenly, I felt myself drift upward, my spirit separating from my body. Below, I saw my own battered corpse and the two heartless bastards standing over it. One of them kicked my lifeless body. Realizing I was truly dead, he spat viciously. “Fucking finally. Tough son of a bitch lasted way longer than I thought. My arms are killing me from all that pounding. Come on, give me a hand. Let’s dump this poor schmuck in that junkyard over the hill!” I watched helplessly as they hauled my body away, tossing it into the desolate scrapyard like yesterday’s trash. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, my spirit drifted across half the city, back to the old neighborhood I once called home. There, hunched and frail, a familiar figure shuffled slowly down the sidewalk. My eyes stung with ghostly tears as I choked out, “Dad…” James Henderson, my father, walked on, deaf to my words. Our neighbor, Larry, spotted him and called out with a smile, “Hey James, where’s that boy of yours? Haven’t seen him around in ages.” Dad’s friendly expression darkened instantly. He exploded, “I haven’t had a son for ten years! Even if I did, he’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere by now!” “How could anyone have such a good-for-nothing child? The day that plague dies will be the day the Henderson name is finally clean!” My chest tightened, the knife wound burning like it was freshly poisoned. I’d barely set foot in my hometown for the past ten years, but every time I did, I heard the same hateful words. Two Christmases ago, I headed home with bags of groceries, hoping to spend the holiday with my father. As soon as I opened the door, he slapped me hard across the face. “Get out! I don’t want anything from you!” I forced a smile, trying to placate him. “Dad… please, just let me stay for dinner. I’ll leave right after.” To my shock, he grabbed the trash bag by the door and dumped its contents over my head, right in front of the neighbors. “Don’t you dare call me Dad!” he bellowed. “No son of mine would turn out to be such a monster! You’re better off dead in a ditch somewhere, and don’t ever show your face around here again!” I stood there, reeking garbage and leftover food covering me from head to toe, as the neighbors muttered and whispered around us. “Man, James sure is cold-hearted,” someone muttered. “What do you know?” another voice snapped. “His son is nothing but trouble – drugs, stealing, messing around. He got what he deserved!” My face burned with shame. On Christmas, I sat alone on the freezing street, covered in garbage, for the entire night. It snowed that night, but my heart was colder than the ice. The mocking laughter in front of me broke through my thoughts. I knew the neighbors were doing it on purpose. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that James’ son had been kicked out of the police academy for drug use, and his bright future had gone up in smoke. And James, who had once bragged about me to anyone who would listen when I got into the academy, had become the laughingstock of the entire community. Years ago, when Larry was young, he’d harassed some women. My dad, a military veteran, had taught him a lesson with his fists. Their relationship had been icy ever since, and Larry knew just how to get under my dad’s skin. When Larry heard my dad’s words, he smirked. “Come on, James. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? Like it or not, he’s still your flesh and blood. Your son.” My father’s face turned livid, his jaw clenched tight. “I have no such son,” he spat out. “That piece of garbage… Why doesn’t God do us all a favor and strike him down with lightning?” With that, my father stormed off. I hovered near the old man, watching as the corners of his mouth trembled almost imperceptibly. Slowly, his eyes welled up with tears. The pain in my heart was sharper than any knife. As tears started to roll down my own cheeks, I finally whispered the words I’d been choking back for what felt like an eternity, “Dad… I’m sorry.”
Dad stumbled through the front door, collapsing onto the couch with a wheezy exhale. He sat there, staring into space, for what felt like hours. Finally, he struggled to his feet and shuffled to the bookshelf. Bending down, he pulled out a small booklet from the bottom shelf. It took me a moment to realize it was my old police academy acceptance letter. With trembling hands, Dad opened it. His weathered fingers traced the words as he read aloud in a soft, shaky voice. “David… accepted to our academy… as a police officer trainee.” A lump formed in my throat. Grief washed over me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless. Memories from that day came flooding back. I remembered racing home, waving that letter like a victory flag. “Dad!” I had shouted. “Dad! I got in!” Back then, my father was still young. He rushed out of the stairwell to greet me, grinning from ear to ear. His large hands cradled my acceptance letter, reading it over and over. “Well done, son! You’re my pride. I couldn’t be more proud of you!” That day, his laughter echoed throughout the entire neighborhood. The neighbors all said, “Like father, like son. James’ boy is truly something special, becoming a police officer!” But no one could have predicted that I’d be expelled for drug use during my second semester of freshman year. The day I came home with my bags packed, I fell to my knees. My father, eyes red with anger and disappointment, beat me until his belt broke. From that day on, he could never again hold his head high among the neighbors. His once-proud posture, straight for decades, crumpled because of me. My dad, always chatty and social, stopped playing chess and shooting the breeze with neighbors. He was afraid they’d bring me up, afraid to hear their pity or opinions about me, even if well-meaning. This cheerful old man, who’d been outgoing his whole life, started spending his days cooped up at home, cutting off contact with everyone. This went on for ten long years. Meanwhile, I was spiraling out of control, hanging with a rough crowd, and sinking deeper into a world of trouble. At first, Dad tried scolding and hitting me. But eventually, he realized nothing could keep me in line. That was when the light went out in his eyes. He stopped reaching out to me. He wouldn’t even open the door when I came home. Father and son had become enemies, and our relationship was severed completely. When I saw that acceptance letter, I could hardly believe it. I never imagined he’d kept it all this time. A wave of bitterness, hidden in my heart for a decade, washed over me. I could almost see him, night after night, holding that letter and weeping. The image hit me like a bullet between the eyes, nearly killing me all over again.
Feona Henderson, my sister, walked in just as Dad was wiping away his tears. She’d known the truth for years but pretended not to notice. “Dad, what would you like for dinner? I’ll cook.” He just shook his head, silent. Feona walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Her face fell as she saw it packed with groceries. “Dad, has David been here?” My dad’s expression darkened, his voice turning cold. “He showed up three days ago. Bought a bunch of stuff we didn’t ask for. Who needs his charity? Eating his food would probably take years off my life!” Feona sighed, “David hardly ever comes around these days. And when he does, you either take a swing at him or bite his head off. Why do you two keep doing this to each other?” It was true. In the ten years since I’d dropped out of the police academy, I could count my visits home on one hand. But three days ago, for reasons I’d rather not explain, I made what I knew would be my last trip home. I’d loaded up on groceries, more than I could carry, and crammed them all into the fridge. James glared at me with undisguised contempt. “Take your stuff and get out! Everything you touch is poison. It could kill me if I eat it!” His words were harsh, but I pretended not to hear. I quietly prepared a table full of dishes, then sheepishly said, “Dad, it’s been ten years since we had a drink together. Let me keep you company for a few rounds.” Surprisingly, James didn’t chase me out with a broom that day. Instead, he sat down at the table, his face grim. I raised my glass and spoke softly. “Dad, it’s been ten years. I know I’ve disappointed you and brought shame to you. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I had my reasons. I didn’t have a choice.” James slammed his cup down on the table with a loud crack, breaking the cup. “Didn’t have a choice? I might be old, but I’m not blind! What kind of circumstances would make you quit being a cop to do drugs? What circumstances would keep you away from home for ten years? What circumstances would turn my son into a social outcast?” My forehead throbbed with shame, but I couldn’t utter a word in my defense. Several times, I tried to speak, but each time, I swallowed my words. My father’s thin, weathered hand slammed against the table as he fired off his questions, each word dripping with anguish. “Answer me! What did I always tell you when you were a kid? What should a Henderson do?” I kept my head down, fighting back tears. “We may not change the world, but we must do the right things.” As soon as the words left my mouth, my father lost control. His hand flew across my face in a stinging slap. “And what have you done? Tell me, can you live with yourself?” he growled. My ears rang as ten years of pent-up emotions exploded in an instant. I leaped to my feet, shouting uncontrollably, “I don’t regret a damn thing I did, you hear me?!” My father froze, staring at me in despair as if I were a stranger he couldn’t comprehend. After a moment of stunned silence, he finally accepted that the person before him was no longer the son he had cherished since childhood. His hands trembled at his sides, clenching into fists before he shook his head weakly. “Get out,” he said, his voice cold. “You are not my son. From now on, my son is dead to me. Get out of my sight. I never want to see you again!” And so, my final meeting with my father ended in bitter discord. I bolted from the house in a daze, somehow ending up at the old park where Dad used to push me on the swings. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed that number. “Captain,” I choked out, barely holding it together. “Please. I’m begging you. Let this be my final mission. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” My voice cracked as I whispered, “I just want to go home.”
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