Chapter 3: Son Rewrites the Past, Truth Hurts

With the staff’s help, Calvin’s consciousness entered my memory, taking my place as the father.

The techs moved quickly, adjusting dials, monitoring brainwaves. Calvin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let the device pull him into the past. The screen split—one side showing my original memory, the other Calvin’s attempt to rewrite it.

But the moment Calvin entered my body, he felt dizzy, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor.

He staggered, grabbing for the edge of the kitchen table. The world spun, colors blurring at the edges. For a second, he looked as weak and broken as I had all those years ago.

Every inch of his body ached with unbearable pain.

It was like being hit by a truck—every bruise, every scar, every old injury flared to life. Calvin gasped, sweat breaking out on his forehead. The audience watched, transfixed, as the mighty businessman crumbled.

“What… what’s going on? Did the neural wave device malfunction?”

He looked up, confused and scared. The researchers checked the readings, but everything was normal. The pain was real—this was my pain, the pain I’d carried for years.

Fighting the dizziness and exhaustion, Calvin lifted his shirt—and was stunned. Even the viewers gasped.

The camera zoomed in on his torso—purple bruises, angry red welts, old scars crisscrossing his skin. It was a roadmap of suffering, a silent testimony to a life lived on the edge.

My body was covered in bruises and scars—wounds everywhere, horrifying to see. My back and legs were plastered with pain relief patches.

The audience recoiled, some covering their mouths in shock. This wasn’t the body of a monster—it was the body of a man who’d been beaten down, again and again. The pain was written in every line, every mark.

Everyone wondered: with injuries this bad, how could anyone even stand, let alone act normal? How did I manage?

The chat slowed, confusion replacing outrage. People began to ask questions, to wonder if maybe—just maybe—they’d missed something.

Seeing the chat, Savannah scoffed and snapped, "Isn’t it obvious? Ben West must've borrowed from loan sharks to feed his gambling. He couldn’t pay back the debt, so those thugs beat him up!"

She rolled her eyes, trying to steer the narrative back to her version of events. But doubt had already crept in. Not everyone was convinced anymore.

"A gambling addict will get up and gamble again no matter how badly he’s hurt. My brother never gambled. That’s why he collapsed."

Her logic was cold, but it made sense to those who’d never lived through it. The chat nodded along, but the seed of doubt had been planted.

The viewers nodded in agreement. Calvin thought the same, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to stand through the pain.

He pushed himself up, jaw clenched, determined not to let anyone see him weak. Calvin had always prided himself on his strength—now, he was learning just how much it took to survive in my shoes.

“This is just the beginning. Everyone’s watching. I can’t let them see me fall!”

He forced a smile, wiped the sweat from his brow, and straightened his back. The audience cheered him on, willing him to succeed.

He took a deep breath, forced a smile, and walked into the room.

The living room was a disaster—clothes strewn everywhere, empty beer cans stacked in the corner, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarettes. Calvin took it all in, determined to change the story.

The place was a mess. Lillian was rummaging through drawers, and after some searching, she found a wad of crumpled bills under the blanket.

She moved quickly, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. The money was hidden well, a last line of defense against whatever disaster might come next.

She was about to pocket the money when she saw her husband—now Calvin—and instantly tensed up, anxious and uneasy.

Her hands froze, eyes darting to the door. She looked like a trapped animal, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Calvin saw the fear and felt a pang of guilt.

Calvin thought she was reacting from years of abuse. His heart ached for her. He took a deep breath, smiled gently, and walked over to hug her softly.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. For a moment, she stiffened, but then she relaxed, just a little. Calvin whispered apologies, promises, anything to make her believe things could be different.

“You’ve suffered so much all these years. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been such a mess, if I’d been a real man for this family, things wouldn’t be like this. You wouldn’t have to live in fear….”

His words were soft, sincere. The audience leaned in, some wiping away tears. Calvin was rewriting the past, one gentle gesture at a time.

“I swear, from now on, I’ll fix everything. I’ll listen to you, and I’ll make sure you’re happy.”

He meant every word, even if he knew it was just a simulation. For Calvin, this was a chance to heal old wounds, to show the world what could have been.

He let go of Lillian and gently took the money from her hand, smoothed it out, and put it back in her pocket.

He smiled, reassuring her. “It’s yours. I trust you.” Lillian looked stunned, her eyes filling with tears. For the first time in years, she felt safe.

To him, a good husband treats his wife gently, keeps her safe, and lets her handle the money so she feels secure.

The chat lit up with praise. People posted heart emojis, calling Calvin the husband every woman deserved. For a moment, the tide seemed to turn.

The viewers loved it.

“Now that’s what a real man should be—gentle to his wife, handing over the finances, making her feel safe.”

The comments scrolled by, people cheering, sharing clips, tagging their friends. Calvin was the hero, the redeemer.

“Look at Ben West—a wife-beater, a total scumbag. He deserves to rot in hell!”

But even as they praised Calvin, the hatred for me never faded. I was still the villain, still the monster in their eyes.

My thoughts spun. I felt the weight of every accusation, every cheer for Calvin, every curse for me.

Lillian was stunned, looking at her husband as if he were a stranger. When she saw he wasn’t going to hit her, she finally relaxed.

She stepped back, wiping her eyes, unsure of what to do next. For a moment, hope flickered in her gaze. Maybe things could change. Maybe the nightmare was over.

She was about to say something when her face suddenly changed. She shook him off and bolted out the door.

Her sudden flight caught everyone off guard. The audience gasped, wondering what could possibly be so urgent. Calvin watched her go, confused but determined to give her space.

Calvin didn’t chase after her. In his mind, his mother just needed time to adjust to this new version of her husband. What she needed now was some freedom and space.

He sat down, running a hand through his hair. Change takes time, he reminded himself. He’d give her all the time she needed. The chat debated what would happen next, theories flying back and forth.

After watching her leave, he quickly found his younger self and little Savannah.

He tiptoed down the hallway, peeking into their room. The kids huddled together on a thin mattress, clutching a threadbare stuffed animal. Calvin’s heart broke at the sight.

The two kids were filthy and thin, clearly malnourished. Seeing how timid they were, Calvin’s heart broke.

He knelt down, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. He remembered what it felt like to be that small, that scared. He wanted to reach out, to comfort them, but he knew it would take time.

He tried to approach, but young Calvin and Savannah instinctively shrank back, trembling, eyes full of fear—especially Savannah, whose eyes brimmed with tears, ready to burst out crying any second.

The sight was almost too much to bear. Calvin’s voice caught in his throat. He wanted to tell them it would be okay, but he knew words weren’t enough.

“Damn that Ben West! What did he do to those kids to make them so afraid of him?!”

The chat exploded with outrage. Parents hugged their own children tighter, vowing never to let them suffer the way Savannah and Calvin had.

“At this age, they should be carefree, loved and protected. Look at them now—how much trauma must they have suffered?!”

Experts chimed in, discussing childhood trauma, the lasting effects of abuse. The nation mourned for two kids who’d never had a chance.

Viewers cursed me out, some even crying, and even the experts denounced me as a disgrace as a father.

My name trended for all the wrong reasons. People called for my head, for justice, for change. But through it all, I just wanted my kids to know I was sorry.

By contrast, Calvin acted like the father everyone wished they had.

He knelt beside them, offering gentle words, a warm smile. He promised to protect them, to never let them go hungry again. The chat cheered, some even donating to children’s charities in his name.

Calvin sighed. In real life, he had two children of his own. The suffering he’d endured as a child was burned into his memory, so he doted on his own kids in every way.

He thought about his own daughter’s smile, the way she ran to him after school. He vowed never to let history repeat itself. The past was a lesson, not a curse.

Now, he wanted to use that same approach to give his younger self and sister happiness—a true father’s role.

He ruffled their hair, told them stories, tried to make them laugh. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. The audience watched, some crying, some smiling through tears.

But the house was a wreck, and after searching, he couldn’t find a scrap of food. He had no choice but to borrow money so the kids could eat and play, hoping to slowly win them over.

He searched the cupboards, the fridge, even under the couch cushions. Nothing. His stomach growled in sympathy. He knew he had to find a way—no matter what.

Then, with his business smarts, he’d make the family rich.

He made plans, scribbled notes on the back of old envelopes. He would start small—a lemonade stand, odd jobs, anything to get them through the week. Calvin believed in hustle, in the American dream. He wouldn’t let his family starve.

That way, his image as a good husband and father would be set in stone.

He pictured the headlines: ‘Calvin West—Family Man, Hero, Savior.’ For once, he wanted to be the father his kids deserved.

But none of the neighbors were willing to lend him money. Calvin was furious, blaming it all on me.

He knocked on doors, pleaded with old friends, but no one would help. The world was colder than he remembered. He cursed my name, vowing never to make the same mistakes.

“If it weren’t for that bastard Ben West, I wouldn’t be in this mess!”

He kicked a trash can, frustration boiling over. The audience sympathized, some even offering to Venmo him if they could.