I walked out of the company building, but the laughter still echoed behind me — it rang like a cruel reminder of what I never saw, what I never understood. I kept walking, no destination in mind. Maybe I should go to the hospital. Or maybe… maybe I should go home.
The streets were quiet now, yet filled with people I never really noticed before. Couples walking hand-in-hand, children laughing, families together. That's when I saw them — a man, his wife, and their child. Smiling, warm, close.
They looked… complete.
I stopped and stared. It hit me harder than I expected. That life — I never lived it. I was too busy working, too obsessed with perfection, too proud. I always thought love came from success. I thought if I provided enough, everything else would follow.
But watching them, I knew I was wrong.
Could I change? Could I be someone better? I didn't need to ask. I knew the answer.
Yes.
I wanted to go home. Not just to a house. To them. To Emily and Mark. I wanted to show them that I wasn't the man they feared. That I could be someone they could trust — someone who could offer more than money and rules. Someone they could love.
So I kept walking. David stayed beside me, silent, like he understood the weight of every step I took.
We walked until midnight.
Finally, I reached the mansion.
Music drifted faintly from inside. At first, I thought I was imagining it. Maybe a trick of memory. But the closer I got, the louder it became.
I stepped through the front door.
My legs moved on their own.
I didn't know what I was expecting, but I had only one thing in my heart.
"I'm sorry."
The words I never said. The ones I always buried under pride.
Nana was sleeping on the couch, still, peaceful. I didn't speak this time. Just a gentle glance, then kept walking toward the backyard, where the music grew louder.
And then I saw them.
Emily. Mark. The maids.
Laughing.
Dancing.
Drinking.
They were stomping on a photo — my photo. Music played like a celebration. It wasn't mourning. It wasn't grief.
It was joy.
A voice cut through the sound:
"To freedom!"
More laughter. More clinking glasses. Even Mark laughed — my own son.
I stood frozen, breathless.
The people I loved most… celebrating my death.
I didn't move. I couldn't.
Inside, something cracked.
"Am I really that worthless to them?" I whispered to myself.
"Was I just a bank account to them? A burden they tolerated? A shadow they wanted gone?"
What was I?
What am I?