I stood there, frozen, watching them dance. Maybe I was misunderstanding. Maybe grief just looks strange on people. That had to be it... right?
I stepped toward Mark. My son. I wanted to take his hand, to whisper something—maybe even "I'm sorry."
But before I could, he picked up another picture of me and smashed it against the ground. Shards of glass scattered across the floor.
I remembered the day I scolded him for breaking the vase. I screamed at him like it was a crime. Back then, I thought I was teaching him discipline. Now I saw it for what it was: cruelty.
I turned slightly. David was standing in the distance, silent. I think he was trying to give me space. At least, I hoped so. I didn't want to see more hate—not tonight. But maybe he couldn't help but hate me too. Who could blame him?
I dropped to my knees beside the broken frame. A picture of me, now cracked down the middle. I stared at it, then rested my head on my knees and closed my eyes.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The sound pierced the silence. I opened my eyes to find myself surrounded by hospital machines. I was… awake.
I sat up slowly. Emily and Mark rushed to my side.
"We're so glad you're awake," Emily said softly.
But the words… they didn't feel warm. They felt like knives.
I shoved them back, my voice breaking open like a dam.
"Don't lie to me! Don't you dare lie to me again!"
They flinched.
"You think I didn't see it? The music? The dancing? You were celebrating my death! Do you really expect me to believe this sudden grief? Do you think I'm that stupid?!"
I didn't want to say it. But the rage was no longer something I could control. It clawed its way out of me like something alive.
"I gave you everything! Money, comfort, a home. What more did you want?!"
Emily's voice trembled. "Love. I wanted love."
I froze.
"I loved the man you used to be," she continued, eyes glistening. "Not the one who buried his heart in numbers and rules. I never wanted your money—I just wanted someone who cared. Someone who saw me. Someone who didn't hit me for every small mistake."
I was speechless. Her words struck deeper than any wound I had ever known.
Then Mark spoke.
"I never asked to be perfect," he said, his voice low and shaking. "I never wanted your rules, your pressure, your expectations. I just wanted a father."
He looked at me—no, through me.
"I'm seventeen. Not once have you ever said goodnight. You blamed me for everything. Told me perfection was the only way to be worth something. But look at you now." He gestured at the hospital room, the wires, the silence.
"What has your perfection done for you? The people closest to you celebrated when you were gone."
Then, just like that, they turned and walked out. No goodbye. No second look.
I sat there, staring at the floor.
I never wanted this. I thought I was building a perfect life—for them, for me. But maybe all along, the perfection I carved so desperately...
...was the very mistake I swore I'd never make.