Chapter 2

I drove home to our small, mortgaged house. The house I worked overtime for, the house Kate said stretched us thin.

The silence inside was heavy, suffocating. Ethan's shoes were by the door. His backpack slumped against the wall.

Then I heard it. Kate's voice, hushed, agitated, from the bedroom. She must have come back while I was at the hospital, or wandering.

"He can't know the truth about the money, Liam! Not now, not ever."

My blood ran cold. I crept closer to the door.

"Mike and Ethan have had my love; a little hardship builds character. You saved my life back then; this is the least I can do for you and Josh. That trust fund is secure, the car is his."

Hardship builds character. My son, working multiple jobs, saving for college, dead on a delivery route. While her money flowed to them.

I backed away, a bitter taste in my mouth.

I couldn't stay there. I went to the morgue. I needed to see my boy.

The attendant was kind. He led me to a cold room.

There was Ethan. So still. So pale. My strong, vibrant son.

I stayed there all night, just looking at him, talking to him, my heart a hollow drum.

The next morning, Kate returned. Or rather, she emerged from the bedroom.

Her expensive clothes from the party were gone, swapped for some department store basics she kept for "around the house." But the faint, lingering scent of a very expensive perfume hung in the air.

She looked tired, but it was a practiced exhaustion.

"Mike, honey," she said, her voice soft, full of fake sympathy. "I got the first flight back. I'm so, so sorry. I was devastated when you told me."

She tried to hug me. I stood stiff.

"I'm just so exhausted from work, and then this... I'll make more time for you and Ethan soon, I promise."

Ethan. She said Ethan. Like he was still here, waiting for her to make time.

I looked at her, really looked at her. The polished mask, the careful words.

A stranger.

I spent the night staring at the ceiling, the image of Kate at that party burned into my mind. Her smile, Josh's new car.

The weight of her deception pressed down on me, heavier than grief, if that was possible.

My son was dead because we "couldn't afford" a safer car for him, because he was out there working to help us.

And she was living a lie, a rich woman pretending to struggle, all while bankrolling her childhood crush and his spoiled kid.

The anger started to burn through the numbness. A cold, hard anger.