During that time, I didn’t shower—just to save water.

The funeral home was five kilometers from our house. I walked the entire way each day to save money for my father’s burial.

Now, the stench of the morgue clung to me, mixing with the sweat that soaked my clothes. In front of Shawn—dressed in a designer suit worth eight million—I must have looked like a beggar.

But I was the biological son of this family.

“Shawn!”

Mark rushed over, immediately wrapping his arms around his precious son.

They were wearing matching outfits—like some flawless, successful father-son duo.

I didn’t respond. I simply walked past them, numb, and climbed the stairs to my father’s room.

There wasn’t much left.

Before Mark came back into her life, my mother claimed she wanted to be an independent woman. My father had quietly supported her dream, always willing to stand behind her success.

He lived frugally. Even when my mother’s earnings grew, he never spent a cent on himself.

After Mark returned, control over the household finances shifted. My father and I barely had any spending money. We scraped by on the little we were allowed.

The only things of value my father had were a worn Parker pen and an old art album from his school days. It had a few photos of him smiling, surrounded by blooming flowers.

“Nathaniel, didn’t you hear me talking to you?”

I turned. Shawn stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his gaze icy.

“Did you forget the rule? When you see me, you kneel.”

It was a rule his clique enforced at school. And I had obeyed it—until now.

But I had taken the college entrance exams. I was done with their games. I wasn’t going to bow anymore.

So I brushed past him and kept walking.

He blinked, stunned. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

I didn’t look back.

“Bastard!”

Before I could react, he snatched the art album out of my hands and began tearing it apart.

Rip.

Rip.

“No!” I shouted, eyes wide in horror.

The album—the last piece of my father—was being shredded in front of me.

He smirked. Bullies only smile when they know they’ve broken you.

“You piece of—”

Crack!

My fist slammed into his face.

He stumbled. I grabbed his hair, yanked him down, and forced him to the ground.

“If you don’t fix that album,” I growled, “I’ll make you wish you never touched it.”

A sharp kick slammed into my back.

I gasped.

Turning around, I saw my mother.

She rushed to shield Shawn, while Mark was already wiping the dirt from his son’s face with trembling care.

“Today is Shawn’s coming-of-age ceremony!” she shouted. “Is this what your father taught you? Resorting to violence like some delinquent?”

I stared at her.

Then I laughed.

Tears welled in my eyes as I pulled a folded sheet of paper from my pocket and slapped it on the table.

A death certificate.

“Dad is dead.”

The room went silent.

My mother and Mark froze.

I picked up the torn pieces of the art album and held them out.

“You call me vicious, but what he destroyed were your shared memories.”

My father used to sketch her often—especially when she was young. Back when she needed him, back when they were still a team.

She used to be the center of his world. And she pretended he was hers.

Until she met Mark again.

Even then, my father kept drawing her.

My mother’s expression flickered.

“Nathaniel… how could you say something so cruel?” she whispered. “How could you curse your father like this?”

Mark suddenly snatched the death certificate from the table.

“I work at the hospital,” he scoffed. “This is clearly a fake. I saw your father shopping with you at the mall just yesterday!”

“You’re lying!” I shouted.

“Enough!” my mother barked.

She ripped the art album from my hands and hurled it to the floor.

“You two really have no other tricks? Faking death now, just because you’re jealous?”

My voice trembled as I faced them both.

“The death certificate is real. My father has been dead for a week.

“Do you think I’d be shopping at the mall when we only had $300 a month to live on—thanks to you giving Mark control of the money?

“We didn’t even have enough to buy painkillers. And you think we went shopping?”

“Nathaniel…”

Mark’s eyes turned red, his voice quivering. “Are you saying I’m jealous? That I mocked your father’s death and withheld your living expenses?”

I clenched my fists. “Stop pretending.”

I lunged toward him, but my mother shoved me back with force.

“Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” she shouted, pointing a trembling finger at me.

“It was your father who took Mark’s position! Do you think he wanted to be a single father, reduced to taking orders as a caregiver?

“He was the one who wronged Mark. I was just compensating for that. Why does he have to be so petty about it?”

I hit the floor hard, but I didn’t wince. Gritting my teeth, I looked up.

“It wasn’t Dad who owed him,” I said coldly. “You did.”

“What did you say?” Her eyes narrowed, her voice lowering dangerously.

I met her gaze without flinching.

“To help the Vaughn family, you accepted a political marriage with the Gray family. You gave up your so-called 'true love.' But that was your choice—not Dad’s fault.

“If you had any backbone, no one could’ve forced you to marry him.

“You didn’t want the struggle of building a future from nothing, but you also couldn’t let go of your first love. So you buried your guilt, your regret—and you pinned everything on Dad.”

Her lips trembled, her eyes flashing with rage.

“It was never Dad who owed you anything. The one who owes your first love is you—a coward who didn’t dare face the truth about herself.”

Smack!

A hard slap cracked across my face.

My head jerked sideways. I tasted blood.

She stood there, trembling.

I slowly turned my face back and smiled bitterly. “You’re angry because I told the truth, aren’t you?”

Smack!

Another slap.

“Thomas Gray raised a monster! You’re nothing like him!” she spat. “What a disgrace!”

And with that, she turned and left—taking her beloved father-son duo with her like I was the shame of the house.

She didn’t even wait for me to speak.

I knelt there, quietly gathering the torn pages of my father’s drawings—what little was left of him.

---

Back at the funeral home, my phone rang.

My mother.

“Nathaniel,” she said sweetly, “I’m sorry. I was just too emotional earlier.”

“I realized… we haven’t held your coming-of-age ceremony yet. I was so busy helping you prepare for the college entrance exams.

“So here’s the plan—the day after tomorrow, I’ve booked a full theater downtown. I’ve invited a reporter to film it. I’ll give you the most thoughtful, meaningful ceremony a son could ever have.”

“I—” I tried to refuse.

But she hung up before I could finish.

I wanted to ignore it. I really did.

But then I looked at my father’s portrait on the urn.

A bitter smile pulled at my lips.

A news reporter? Perfect.

Let’s tell the whole world, live on camera, how my father died.

---

The day arrived.

I stepped out of the car, carrying my father’s urn in my arms.

The downtown venue loomed in front of me, beautifully decorated.

But then I looked up.

And froze.

[Congratulations to Baby Shawn on Getting Into Stanford University!]

My knees nearly buckled.

My mother stood at the door, beaming. “Why are you just standing there? Come in, quick.”

I stared at her. “Didn’t you say this was my coming-of-age ceremony?”

She waved it off. “Oh, stop it. Coming-of-age ceremonies can be held anytime. But Shawn? His big moment only happens once.

“You two—father and son—you’re always so dramatic. If I hadn’t used this excuse, would you have even shown up?”

Then, casually, as if it were nothing: “By the way, where’s your father? He’s such a good singer. He should be up there performing a celebration song for Shawn.”

A gust of wind blew.

The black cloth covering the urn slipped off, revealing my father’s portrait.

She stared.

Her face drained of color.

“What… what do you mean by this? Is Thomas really trying to ruin Shawn’s big day?!”

“Mom—”

Crash!

She slapped the urn out of my hands.

It hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

The porcelain shattered.

Ashes scattered like dust in the wind.

“No!”

I screamed and lunged forward, but my mother’s bodyguards grabbed me, pinning my arms as I thrashed helplessly.

Mark and his son rushed over after hearing the commotion.

Shawn gasped, then burst into dramatic tears. “Nathaniel! You… you and your uncle did all this to ruin my entrance banquet? How could you curse me like that?!”

Mark pulled him close, eyes reddened. “Miss Vaughn… I think it’s clear. We’re not welcome here. Come on, Shawn—we’ll leave.”

“Wait!” My mother’s voice was sharp with panic.

She turned, stormed over to me, and slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side. “You two are really bold! You dare ruin such an important day?!”

The photo of my father still sat in the car.

She walked over and kicked it.

The glass cracked. His gentle smile—preserved behind that frame—shattered beneath her foot.

Tears spilled from my eyes. “No! Dad!”

I surged forward, wild with grief, but the bodyguards held me down.

I was forced to watch—watch—as they poured my father’s ashes into the sewer, his photo stomped into shards and tossed into the trash.

By the time my body finally gave out, sobs wracking my chest, I was half-conscious. They dragged me by the arms and dropped me at her feet.

“Mr. Vaughn,” one of the guards reported, “it’s done.”

My mother gave a satisfied smile and stepped back beside Mark and Shawn, looking every bit the perfect, loving family of three.

“If this ever happens again, I’ll divorce Thomas on the spot,” she said coldly. Then to the guards: “Watch him. Don’t let him cause any more trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They yanked me aside like I was trash.

She bent down, her voice low and venomous. “Now open your eyes and watch how Shawn becomes someone you’ll never be.”

I coughed, blood staining my lips, and forced a bitter smile. “Don’t worry. He won’t make it to Stanford University—not even with 750 points.”

At that moment, Shawn stepped in front of the cameras, beaming like the star of the show. He raised a mic, dressed to perfection.

“To be honest,” he laughed, “I’m not even that good at studying. I just worked hard… and accidentally scored 700! Haha!”

Online comments buzzed instantly:

“OMG, this is the most humble brag ever! I'm crying real tears of envy.”

“Recording this to show my future kids: Work hard and you’ll score 700 accidentally!”

“Miss Vaughn’s son is so charming! Is he… single?”

Just then, a voice cuts through the noise.

“Excuse me—make way.”

A group of uniformed police officers pushed through the crowd, walking straight toward the stage.

They surrounded Shawn.

“Young man,” the lead officer said, “please come with us. We need you to cooperate in an investigation concerning your college entrance exam results.”

My mother froze.

“You must be mistaken!” she snapped, stepping protectively in front of him. Her eyes darted to me, instantly suspicious. “Was it Thomas again? Did he call the police?!”

She turned to the officers. “Comrades, Shawn is a good boy! Don’t believe anything that jealous lunatic says!”

The captain glanced down at his folder, unfazed. “Are you referring to the boy’s father?”

“Yes!” my mother snapped. “He’s behind this—”

“He died two weeks ago in a car accident,” the officer said calmly. “We have the report here. Ma’am… you really didn’t know?”

Her body stiffened.

Behind her, Mark went pale as chalk.

I stared at them from where I knelt, my arms still restrained, eyes bloodshot.