Chapter 2 The Stranger in
My Home
Linda hadn’t expected I’d already
packed my bags. She rushed over, trying
to stop me.
Right then, the fingerprint lock on the front door clicked.
The next moment, Henry walked in holding his son Andy’s hand.
So he had his fingerprint registered in our home’s lock system.
But I had told Linda–very clearly–I didn’t want to see Henry in this house.
He smeared my name. He took everything from me. Because of him, people misunderstood me, mocked me, and made me afraid to step outside.
He ruined me completely.
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I hated him.
But clearly, Linda hadn’t taken my words seriously.
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The moment Henry saw me, his expression shifted. He looked pitiful.
“Chase…”
Next to him, Andy immediately ducked behind his father, like I was some kind of monster. Tears in his eyes, he whimpered:
“Mr. Chase, please don’t hit my dad!”
I stared coldly at this ten–year–old boy, so wide–eyed and innocent.
But he was the one who, on
Thanksgiving, falsely accused me of hitting Henry–in my parents‘ home.
It was the first Thanksgiving in years I’d looked forward to.
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The first time since everything fell apart that my parents agreed to let me spend a holiday with them.
I had wanted to mend things with them.
But Henry dragged me down the stairs. We tumbled from the top step all the way to the bottom.
My leg broke. No one cared.
Everyone rushed over to Henry.
They fussed over him, comforted him. I was crushed, but I still clung to a sliver of hope.
“He pushed me,” I said.
Henry didn’t deny it. He just muttered, “Whatever Chase says.”
That’s when Andy started crying- loudly. He came down the stairs and asked me:
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“Why did you push my dad? He didn’t even want to come. Your father and mother invited us. If you don’t like us being here, we’ll leave. But why push him?”
The moment he finished, my mom stormed over and slapped me hard across the face.
“I thought you’d genuinely repented all these years. Turns out, you’re even more vicious than before.”
I stood there, tears streaming down my
face.
They say real men don’t cry. But that’s only because they haven’t reached the depths of heartbreak.
I told them I didn’t push Henry, but no one believed me.
My dad looked at me with a cold, disappointed face. “You think a kid like
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Andy would lie?”
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Linda clenched her fists, her voice detached. “Chase, you’re hopeless.”
Tammy walked over and kicked my broken leg–hard. I screamed in pain.
No one cared.
They looked at my agony as if it were justice served.
No one said a word, but every face in the room said, You deserved it.
Tammy sneered, “You’re a terrible dad. I hate you.”
That day, I limped out of my parents‘ house.
I still remember the searing pain of that night.
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Back then, I’d intended to divorce
Linda.
But she just calmly ripped up the divorce papers and said:
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“Chase, don’t you get it? There’s no one left who loves you but me.”
I stood there, speechless, her words echoing in my head: Does she really love me?
She saw right through me and laughed.
“If I didn’t love you, why would I put up with you after everything you’ve done? Chase, your parents have already disowned you. They’ve decided to adopt Henry as their godson. Just stay with me and help me atone to Henry, okay?”
That night, desperate for love, I let her convince me.
I was terrified.
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Terrified of being unloved. Terrified that without this home, I’d be homeless in every sense of the word. Like a weed drifting aimlessly in the wind.
I didn’t want to be some unwanted, unrooted thing.
So I learned to back down. To endure.
I stopped defending myself. Let her and Tammy freeze me out, all in the name of “making amends” to Henry and his
son.
But none of my concessions brought peace in return.
The past was too bitter to relive. My thoughts were shattered by Tammy rushing toward me.
She shoved me aside, ran over to Andy, and held his hand tightly.
“Don’t worry, Andy. As long as Mom and
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I are here, no one can bully you or Henry.”
Then she turned to me with a warning:
“If you ever hurt them again, I’ll stop calling you Dad.”
Andy, always the sweet little actor, tried to play peacemaker. “Tammy, don’t be so mean to him…”
He looked at me and gave a smile full of sugary innocence.
“I know you don’t like me and my dad. But we’re not like you. We don’t have anything. Can you please not kick us out?”
A true prodigy of a pretentious fraud. Like father, like son.
I smiled at him. “What do you mean you’ve got nothing? This house is yours.
now.”
