Chapter 3: Death, Betrayal, and a Second Chance

Mom, you say Dad would help me, but I’ve already been killed by my own father once.

The memory flickered behind my eyes—cold water, desperate hands, betrayal sharp as a blade. I shivered, hugging myself tight, wishing I could erase it all.

My dad’s always been a hypocrite, quick to judge others but never himself. Back when I was in school, he called me wasteful for needing two hundred bucks for fees, but he spent thousands partying and called it a man’s responsibility. He was shameless.

The old resentments bubbled up, each memory sharper than the last. I’d spent years trying to earn his approval, always coming up short. It never mattered what I did.

And that’s not all. When I started dating, he exploded over a thousand-dollar engagement ring, even cursing my girlfriend to her face, calling her a gold-digger. If my mom hadn’t stepped in, my girlfriend and I might have broken up right then. These days, engagement rings costing five or ten grand aren’t unusual—asking for a thousand is hardly gold-digging. My dad’s the type who’d call any woman who lets you buy her a Starbucks a scammer. He was always looking for a reason to be bitter.

He never missed a chance to embarrass me, to make sure I knew my place. It was like he wanted me to be as miserable as he was. I hated it.

I’ve always resented him for this, but he was still my dad, so I let it go. I swallowed the anger and tried to move on.

I told myself he’d come around, that maybe he was just old-fashioned. But deep down, I knew better. I just didn’t want to admit it.

But then, over the past six months, he became obsessed with a TikTok streamer. He demanded a divorce so he could go meet her in person, and even wanted my mom to leave with nothing so he could sell the house and propose to that woman. It was like he’d lost his mind, chasing after a fantasy while our real lives crumbled. I tried to pull him back, but he just pushed harder, shutting me out.

When I found out, I was furious and tried to talk sense into him. But he was so blinded by love that he accused me of betraying him, said I was siding with outsiders. I was so mad, I asked him, “Who’s family, and who’s an outsider?”

He just sneered, twisting my words, making me feel like the enemy. It was like nothing I said mattered anymore. He’d already made up his mind.

He pretended to give up his crazy plans, but behind my back, he listened to the streamer’s lies and lured me to the river for a “heart-to-heart”—then shoved me in and drowned me. I still can’t believe it happened.

I still remember the cold water, the panic, the betrayal etched on his face. He didn’t hesitate—not even for a second. He looked me in the eye and did it anyway.

I tried to climb out again and again, but each time he pushed me back with a tree branch. In the end, I died choking on water, overwhelmed by grief and hatred. I never stood a chance.

My last thoughts were of my mom, of everything I’d never get to say. The world faded to black, but the pain lingered. It never really left.

After I died, my restless soul watched as he cashed in multiple insurance policies for a huge payout. Only then did I realize he’d planned my murder for the money all along. The truth made me sick.

I screamed at him, invisible and powerless, as he smiled at his bank statement. The betrayal burned in me like fire.

I was shattered, screaming at him until my voice broke, but as a ghost, nothing I did mattered. I could only watch helplessly as he met up with the streamer and lived it up. I was nothing.

He bought her gifts, took her on trips—spending money that should have been for our family. It was like I’d never existed. He erased me with every swipe of his card.

But she wasn’t some innocent woman—she was after his money. Once she’d burned through the insurance payout, she pushed him to sell the house. Because I’d stopped him from divorcing my mom, he still had access to everything and sold the house without a fight. Everything fell into place for him.

He didn’t even blink, just signed the papers and handed over the keys. My mom was left with nothing but memories. She lost everything.

My mom, old and alone, lost her son, her husband, and her home. She ended up homeless, wandering the streets. She once knelt in front of my dad, begging him to live a decent life, but he used the same tricks on her as he did on me. He had no shame.

She’d show up at his door, rain-soaked and desperate, but he just turned her away. The world moved on, but she was stuck in place, unable to escape the past.

At that same riverbank—first on Memorial Day, then on Christmas—he drowned my mom too. He killed her just like he killed me.

He didn’t even hesitate—just pushed her in and watched her sink. The holidays became anniversaries of loss, reminders of everything we’d lost. Every year, the pain came back.

And just like that, both mother and son were gone. Our story ended in silence.

The world kept spinning, but our story ended in silence. I swore, if I ever got a second chance, I’d do things differently. I’d make him pay.

I gritted my teeth, desperate to see my dad get what he deserved. Once he was useless, the streamer would definitely throw him away. I hated him and wanted to see him pay. Revenge was all I had left.

I pictured him alone, broke, abandoned—the justice he’d never see in court. But revenge was cold comfort. It wouldn’t bring us back.

Suddenly, a flash of white light, and I lost consciousness. Everything went blank.

It was like being yanked out of a nightmare, thrown into a new one. I gasped for air, heart pounding, not sure what was real anymore. Nothing made sense.