I'm at a job interview at a major company. One of the interviewers is my father, Edgar Booker, whom I haven't seen in ten years.

He wears a sharp suit and carries himself with an imposing presence.

When he sweeps his indifferent gaze over me, he pauses for a rare moment.

After the interview ends, the HR manager, Jesse Dorsey, pulls me aside.

"You're Mr. Booker's son, right? He says you can start next week."

I smile faintly and slowly tear up the offer letter.

"No, thanks. I don't want to work with a murderer."

Ms. Dorsey froze.

After a long pause, she asked tentatively, "Are you sure you're talking about Mr. Booker?"

I offered no reply.

Ms. Dorsey was silent for a long while, then said softly, "Actually, when Mr. Booker saw your résumé, he gave me a heads-up. He said you're his only son, so he made a point of telling me to hire you."

"Sorry." I cut her off with a smile. "I'm an orphan—I don't have a father."

Ms. Dorsey was stunned for a long moment. Finally, with a conflicted look, she let me leave.

As I took the elevator down, Edgar's current wife, Leah Kern, walked in.

She gave a brief nod, then suddenly said wistfully, "This afternoon, when I heard that you had come for an interview, I thought it was just someone joking around. Time really flies—look how much you've grown."

When I didn't respond, Leah was silent for a moment before pressing on gently.

"Claude, take my advice. Back then, both you and Edgar had your own difficulties. But at the end of the day, he's still your father. Why don't you let bygones be bygones?"

Over the years, I had received this kind of advice far too many times.

Just because we were related by blood, I was supposed to forget the past and how my grandmother, Trudy Vance, died?

I couldn't do it.

I lowered my eyes and gently shook my head.

"That's never going to happen," I replied resolutely.

Someone had to remember what Edgar did.

When I got home, I washed my hands clean and placed the offerings I had bought in front of a black-and-white photograph.

In the photo, Grandma was smiling warmly.

That day had been my so-called father, Edgar's birthday—and also the happiest day of Grandma's life.

The moment I'd pressed the shutter, Grandma had looked toward Edgar and given her most radiant and proudest smile.

Ten years had passed since then. This year also marked the tenth year since Grandma had left me.

I wiped the memorial portrait meticulously clean, then went back to my room and sent out my résumé to several more companies.

Before long, a company with fairly good benefits got back to me, asking me to come for an interview the next day.

But when I arrived at the building of that company, I saw Edgar once again.

He was leaning against a black Maybach with a cigarette between his fingers.

When he saw me, he stubbed it out and walked toward me in his leather shoes.

His gaze was like that of an elite sizing up his latest business success.

After a long while, he nodded. There was a hint of approval in his eyes.

"I've looked at your résumé. You've made some progress over the years."

Instead of replying, I walked straight into the company building as if I hadn't seen him.

The elevator arrived with a ding. I collected myself and pushed the door open.

After the HR manager, Francis Palmer, took my résumé, he barely glanced at it before saying, "Sorry, you didn't get the job. Try looking elsewhere."

I frowned and said, "But you haven't even interviewed me yet."

Mr. Palmer hesitated for a moment, then said tactfully, "You're not quite suited for this position. I suggest you take a look over at Booker Group. Your qualifications are more in line with what they're looking for."

The moment I heard "Booker Group", I understood immediately.

Over the years, Edgar had tried many ways to repair our relationship. But every time, it had done nothing except drill into me even deeper just how impossible he was—just like today.

I took a deep breath and thanked Mr. Palmer. Then, I turned and left.

From behind me came hushed whispers.

"So, that's Mr. Booker's son? He's not quite what I imagined."

"I heard he was raised by his grandmother in the countryside. And for over a decade, Mr. Booker never once went back to see him."

"Oh my god. How could he do that? At the end of the day, that's still his son."

I stopped listening and walked away faster.

The moment I stepped out the door, I ran straight into Edgar.

Just like before, I acted as if I hadn't seen him and didn't slow down at all.

He suddenly seized my wrist and said in a displeased tone, "Claude, is this how your grandma raised you? Don't you even have the decency to greet your own father when you see him?"

He stopped mid-sentence, cut short by the loathing in my eyes.

His face darkened. "Claude, what's with the attitude?"

Attitude? Me?

I didn't understand how he could bring up Grandma so righteously after what he had done.

I wrenched my hand free from his grip and said coldly, "You have no right to bring up Grandma!"

I turned and walked away.

Behind me came Edgar's furious voice. "You little punk! She was my mother—I'll bring her up all I want!"

A whole week went by, and I still wasn't able to find a job. Thus, I had no choice but to buy a ticket home first.

After arriving home, I took some fruits and went to visit Grandma's old friends at the nearby nursing home.

I sat in the garden and chatted with them for a long while.

Then, someone brought up Edgar's name, and the atmosphere suddenly froze.

After a long pause, Laurie Guthrie said hesitantly, "Your father actually called here a few days ago asking what you've been up to lately. I just told him you'd gone to the capital, Pemberton, to look for work."

Beside her, Melvin Hickman rapped his cane hard against the ground.

"What's the point of telling that bastard so much? Claude is outstanding enough without needing to rely on him!"

Ms. Guthrie tugged at his sleeve, but he only grew more worked up.

"Did I say anything wrong? Trudy raised him like her own son, and how did he repay her? All those years, he couldn't even be bothered to call her once. Did he ever lift a finger in raising Claude?

"And now, all of a sudden, he remembers he's got a son? Well, it's a little late for that. Real shrewd, that one."

Mr. Hickman pressed a big orange into my hand as he spoke. "Claude, eat up! I've got everything here. We don't need his stinky money."

I took a bite. The juice burst in my mouth—it was a little sour.

Actually, Mr. Hickman was right. Edgar really was very clever.

Growing up, he was always top of his class.

In middle school, he even started a little side business at school reselling comic books, just to buy himself a pricey watch.

In high school, a teacher even paid Grandma a visit to suggest that Edgar attend a summer program at Pemberton College.

Back then, Grandma looked at Edgar with nothing but pride in her eyes.

That was, until he was brought down by a woman—twice.

And she was none other than my mother, Dawn Fuller.

When she cheated on him with another man, she was already six months pregnant with me.

Edgar came back to Grandma's house and refused to eat or drink for days on end.

One day, Grandma made a bowl of soup and took it over.

"Edgar, don't starve yourself. Please just have a sip," she said coaxingly.

Edgar stared at that bowl of chicken soup, his eyes suddenly reddening.

"Do you know what Dawn said to me when we split up? She said my family was too poor and that I wasn't good enough for their high-society circle. She asked me, 'Your mother's just some lowly farmer—what makes you think you're worthy of being with me?'"

Grandma froze. It took a long while before she found her voice again.

"Edgar, let's not talk about people like—"

"Sometimes I wonder too—why did it have to be you?"

Edgar's eyes were downcast. He didn't look at Grandma, so naturally, he didn't see that her hands were trembling.

"If you're so poor, how did you have the money to adopt me? Don't you feel any guilt at all for making a child suffer alongside you?"

The bowl shattered on the floor with a crash, chicken soup splashing all over Grandma.

She looked at him as if he were a complete stranger, unable to utter a single word.

Afterward, Grandma sat alone in the living room for a very long time. Only when the sky began to lighten at dawn did she finally rise from the chair and shuffle over to make breakfast for Edgar.

No one ever brought up that day again, and it seemed as if the matter had simply passed.

Only Grandma knew that those words were like a thorn stuck in her throat. She could neither swallow them nor spit them out.

Once I was a bit older, Edgar left to find work elsewhere.

Edgar came home less than once a year. When Grandma called him, he'd either hang up before they'd exchanged so much as three sentences or just not pick up at all.

I was still young back then, so I couldn't understand why Grandma refused to place the receiver back onto the cradle when the other end had long since become the beep of the disconnected line.

It was as if she thought that if she just waited a little longer, the busy signal would turn back into Edgar's voice.

The first time I saw Edgar after I was old enough to remember was five years later, in the depths of a cold winter.

The snow was coming down heavily outside. Edgar pushed the door open, bringing in a gust of cold air with him.

His hands were full of bags, but he freed one up to ruffle my hair.

"Wow, you've grown so much taller," he said with a grin.

I felt a strange familiarity toward him. It was a feeling that made me want to run away, yet at the same time, it instinctively drew me toward him.

I burst into a loud wail and cried out helplessly for Grandma.

She rushed out of the kitchen, and when she saw Edgar, she froze too.

Edgar opened his arms and said with a smile, "Mom, I'm back."

Grandma nodded and quickly went to whip up something for Edgar to eat.

Edgar stopped her and said, "Don't bother. I bought takeout. Besides, there's something I need to tell you."

Dinner was well underway when Edgar, choosing his moment, gently put down his fork.

"Mom, I'm getting married at the end of this year."

Grandma was taken aback. "Why so sudden? I haven't even met your fiancee yet."

Edgar let out a couple of awkward laughs. "There's no need to meet her specially, because it's Dawn I'm marrying—Claude's mother. She came back to find me a while ago.

"She's changed a lot, and she also swore to me that she won't do it again. I've given it a lot of thought, and I still feel Claude shouldn't be without his mother."

Back then, I had no idea what the word "mother" even meant.

In the end, Grandma said nothing at all.

In the middle of the night, Grandma was taking me to the bathroom when we passed Edgar's room and heard the low, indistinct sound of him on the phone.

The next second, Grandma suddenly shoved the bedroom door open and said sharply, "What do you mean? She never cut ties with that other man at all?"

Edgar reflexively hung up the phone and hurried to deny it. "No, Mom. You heard wrong."

Grandma said nothing. Instead, she just stared at the bruises trailing out from beneath Edgar's short sleeves.

She strode over and, despite Edgar's attempts to stop her, lifted his shirt. Dense scars and bruises crawled over his body.

Grandma's hand trembled uncontrollably.

"Did Dawn and her family do this to you?"

"No, I fell down myself."

Even a child like me could tell those were marks from a beating.

Grandma saw the redness around Edgar's eyes and shook all over.

"Edgar, I don't approve of this marriage!"

Edgar gritted his teeth and suddenly yelled back, "What right do you have to tell me what to do? If it weren't for you, Dawn and her family wouldn't even look down on me!"

He suddenly pointed at me. "Do you know what she calls Claude? A dead weight! She doesn't even want this brat!"

"So what if you're not with her? I can take care of you for the rest of my life!" Grandma shouted, tears streaming down her face.

Edgar was silent for a moment. Then, he said quietly, "But I want to be with her. I don't want to spend my whole life with you."

With that, he turned and ran off into the night.

I hid behind Grandma, my whole body shaking as I gripped her sleeve.

"Grandma, am I a dead weight? Is it because of me that Daddy isn't happy?"

Grandma opened her mouth, but not a single word came out.

After a long moment, she knelt on the floor and pulled me into her arms, trembling.

"You're not a dead weight. You are my precious grandson."

From then on, Grandma and Edgar seemed locked in a quiet standoff. There was no more conversation between them, and I became the only go-between.

Until one day, when Grandma was tidying up, she noticed that the family's lockbox of important papers was missing.