He looked at me like I was supposed to be grateful, like this was charity. Then he added, “Don’t overthink it. The one I love will always be Celine, but considering our five years of friendship, I can guarantee you a life without financial worries.”
Arrogance oozed from every word. Just like when he humiliated me at the bar. Was this how he saw me? A beggar who would cry tears of joy over a little favor?
Maybe I used to be like that. I would have done anything for my dad. But not anymore. Not now.
I didn’t respond. Argus threw the letter down and said, “Sign it and bring it to my company.” Then he left, walking away like he owned the world.
I laughed, bitter and broken, and tore the letter into pieces. Then I called the police and reported Celine by name.
The clock struck midnight. I looked at the calendar and the grandfather clock in the corner. In ten hours I’d be free.
I packed my bag, took a hot shower, and went to the cemetery before leaving. I buried my dad’s urn, knelt in front of his tombstone, and kowtowed three times. All the years of suppressed emotions spilled out and I sobbed openly.
“Dad, I’m going to live for real now. If you could see me, I hope you’d be proud.”