Chapter 1
The day my Grandpa, Mike Harper, announced the division of the family estate, my uncle, Richard Harper, slammed the property deeds on the table, pointed at my father, Michael Harper.
He said, "Michael, you're the most useless one. If we gave you the family assets, you'd mess them up. Do you admit it?"
My father stood in the middle of the courtyard. He was silent for a long time. Then he said, "It's fine. We don't want it."
My uncles, Richard and Charles Harper, burst out laughing on the spot.
But the very next morning, my father called us into his room and laid out four passports neatly on the table.
"Let's go. We're leaving the country," he said.
He didn't cry, didn't make a scene, and didn't even look back at the old estate.
For the next twenty years, we never set foot in that house again.
One day, Richard's son, William Harper, added me on WhatsApp and sent me a message.
The first thing he said—I still haven't had the courage to tell Dad about it.
*****
The day my grandpa announced the family split, the yard was carpeted with fallen leaves from the old maple tree.
The wind was biting cold.
It chilled us to the bone.
Richard slammed several property deeds down hard on the square table.
The table shook.
His finger pressed against my father's chest through the thin paper.
Richard said, "Michael, you've never amounted to anything. You're a middle school teacher, stuck with that measly salary for life.
"If we gave you the family assets, you'd ruin them.
"Do you admit it?"
His voice was quiet, but everyone in the yard heard it loud and clear.
The aunts, uncles, and cousins shot us looks sharp as needles.
Some eyes held pity, some contempt, and some were clearly taking pleasure in our misfortune.
Charles stood off to the side, arms crossed, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
He said, "Yeah, Richard's got a point.
"Michael, your salary's barely enough to support your family.
"You really think you can manage all these businesses, shops, and fields?
"Don't end up squandering everything our family worked so hard for."
My father stood right in the middle of the yard.
He wore a faded blue jacket, his back ramrod straight.
He didn't look at Richard or Charles.
His gaze was fixed on Grandpa's wrinkled face.
Mike sat in his old wooden chair, absently twirling his rings.
He didn't even bother to look up.
It was like none of this had anything to do with him, like the one being humiliated in front of everyone wasn't his third son.
I stood beside my mom, Jenny Harper, clutching her hand as if it were the only thing keeping me steady.
Her hand was icy cold and still trembling.
It was like an invisible fist had wrapped around my heart, squeezing so hard I could barely breathe.
This was my family.
They were my uncles, my grandpa.
On the day they divided up the family inheritance, they tore apart my father's dignity with their harshest words.
Dad stood there, silent, for what felt like ages.
It was so long that even the wind in the yard seemed to stop moving.
Richard's impatience was impossible to miss.
He said, "Speak up. What, did you suddenly go mute?
"Just face it—you've never amounted to anything. What's so hard about admitting it?"
Dad finally stirred.
He raised his head, looking at Richard, then Charles, and finally letting his gaze rest on Mike.
His eyes were steady, as deep and still as an old well—not a hint of emotion.
"It's fine," Michael replied. His voice was a bit hoarse, but unwavering. "We don't want it."
Those words hit the air like a stone dropped into a pond.
But instead of gentle ripples, it was like a bomb had gone off. "Are you out of your mind?" My mom was the first to cry out. Her voice trembled with disbelief.
Richard paused for a moment, then let out a loud, grating laugh.
He said, "Well, look at you! Got some guts, huh?
"This is your own choice—everyone here heard you loud and clear."
Charles couldn't help but laugh, his shoulders shaking with amusement.
He said, "You sure about this, Michael? Think it over.
"It's not only the shops and properties—it's the old estate you and your folks live in, too.
"So what, you want your whole family out on the street?"
Dad ignored them completely.
He fixed his gaze on Grandpa and repeated himself, word by word. "Dad, we don't want it. Give it all to Richard and Charles. We're walking away empty-handed."
Grandpa finally stopped twirling the ring.
He slowly lifted his eyelids and cast a cloudy-eyed glance at Dad.
There wasn't a shred of guilt in his look, just a subtle hint of irritation.
To him, Dad's stubbornness was nothing but extra trouble.
"Since you've made up your mind," he said. "Then that's that." He waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a fly. "Put it in writing. So you don't show up later, causing trouble."
Richard immediately grabbed a pen and paper and, right in front of everyone, wrote out a statement for Dad to give up all his rights to the family inheritance.
He slid the document and the inkpad over to Dad.
"Sign here, Michael," Richard said. His tone was dripping with smug satisfaction.
Dad stepped forward, picked up the pen, and signed his name at the bottom. Then, he pressed his thumb hard into the red inkpad. And stamped it onto the document.
The bright red fingerprint, like a drop of blood, burned into my eyes.
Right then, I started crying.
I felt the injustice for my dad, and it hurt so much.
But my dad didn't shed a single tear, not once.
His face showed no anger or sadness at all.
There was only calm there, one I couldn't make sense of.
After signing the document, Dad turned and walked over to my mother and me.
With his calloused hand, he wiped the tears from my face.
"Come on, let's go home," Dad said.
We made our way across the yard, passing by the judging stares of all our relatives.
Behind us, Richard and Charles were already making a racket, loudly claiming their prize without even trying to hide it.
Every laugh felt like a knife, slicing right through my heart.
I thought all that was waiting for us was nothing but endless darkness.
I was even wondering where we'd end up tonight.
But I never expected it.
This was only the beginning.
This was the beginning of a scheme that would stretch on for twenty years.