Chapter 1

My father was dying.

The hospice bed looked too big for him in our small living room.

His breaths were shallow, each one a struggle.

I held his hand, it felt like paper.

He hadn't spoken much for days.

Dr. Ramirez said it was close.

There was one person he kept asking for, in his clearer moments.

My mother, Victoria Hayes.

She left us years ago.

Left Dad for Richard Davenport, a man she knew before Dad.

Now she was CEO of Hayes Innovations, a big tech company.

I picked up my phone, my hand shaking a little.

I found her number, the one for her personal assistant.

It rang three times.

A crisp voice answered. "Victoria Hayes' office."

"I need to speak with her. It's Ethan Miller. Her son."

A pause. "One moment."

Music played, something classical and annoying.

Then her voice, cold and familiar. "Ethan? What is it? I'm very busy."

"It's Dad," I said, my throat tight. "He's… he's not going to make it. He's asking for you."

Silence on her end.

I could hear faint party noises in the background, laughter.

"He wants to see you, Mom. One last time."

Her sigh was audible, impatient.

"Ethan, I'm in the middle of a very important celebration for Ryan. He just got into State University. We're all very proud."

Ryan. Richard Davenport's son.

Her stepson, I guess.

"Mom, please. He's dying. He needs you."

"David is always dramatic," she said, her voice sharp. "And I have responsibilities here. Ryan has worked very hard for this."

Worked hard? Or had her money and influence worked hard?

"This is his life," I pushed, desperate. "Don't you care at all?"

"I'll send flowers to the funeral," she said, as if discussing a business transaction. "Now, I really must go. Congratulations to Ryan are in order."

The line clicked dead.

I stared at the phone.

The party noises echoed in my memory.

I looked back at my father.

His eyes were open, a question in them.

I tried to smile. "She… she couldn't get away. She sends her love."

A lie. A kind lie, maybe.

He closed his eyes. A single tear tracked down his weathered cheek.

He knew.

He always knew her.

A few hours later, his breathing stopped.

Just like that.

David Miller, my father, was gone.

And she was celebrating her lover's son.

The silence in the apartment was heavy, broken only by my own ragged breath.

He died feeling her absence.

That was the first thing she took from him, and now, the last.