I Died, Then Made Him Pay / Chapter 4: Debts, Threats, and Broken Promises
I Died, Then Made Him Pay

I Died, Then Made Him Pay

Author: Thomas Cox

Chapter 4: Debts, Threats, and Broken Promises

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The next day, my dad actually got up early and followed me to work. He wore his best flannel shirt—still stained.

I’d warned my boss ahead of time, so he didn’t question anything and just played along.

Mr. Carter, my supervisor, shot me a sympathetic look and offered my dad coffee.

Then Dad dragged me to the bank. When he saw the five-figure balance in my account, he was thrilled.

He whistled, loud and off-key, drawing stares from the tellers. He made a show of it.

"I haven’t played cards in forever. My hands are itching. Gotta go play a few rounds." He couldn’t get out fast enough.

He tossed the words over his shoulder, already halfway out the door. I watched him disappear.

He withdrew all the money and stuffed it in his pocket, swaggering out the door. My hands shook.

On my way home from work, Mom called me. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

"Danny, your dad went gambling again. He not only lost your whole paycheck, he owes a huge amount now. The loan sharks showed up and said they’d chop off his hand if he didn’t pay."

Her voice was thin, barely above a whisper. I pictured her hiding in the pantry.

She was risking everything just by calling. I could hear angry voices in the background.

Every word sounded like it cost her a piece of herself. I wanted to pull her to safety.

Hearing the fear and tears in her voice, my heart ached so much my eyes stung. I bit my lip.

"Mom, tell them you’re going out to borrow money. Get out and keep yourself safe." I needed her to believe I had a plan.

"Okay, I understand." She sounded defeated, but determined.

"You should hide too. Don’t come home tonight." She was still looking out for me.

She was shaking even more, full of worry. Her words tumbled out.

"Okay, I got it. Don’t worry, Mom." I forced a smile into my voice.

I agreed, trying not to make her worry. I promised myself I’d keep her safe.

But as soon as I hung up, I turned and headed straight home.

I couldn’t help myself. I needed to see it for myself, to make sure she was really gone. Some habits die hard.

Last time, my dad didn’t just abuse us—he caused all kinds of trouble outside, too. He left chaos everywhere.

He left a trail of chaos wherever he went—unpaid debts, angry neighbors, police reports swept under the rug. I’d spent my whole life cleaning up after him.

Every time, Mom and I would either hide or grit our teeth and endure, hoping things would blow over. It never did.

But in the end, she jumped, I got stabbed and bled out, and even my wife and unborn child got dragged down with us. No one got out clean.

This time, I won’t just endure—I’ll strike back. Something had changed.

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