“No.” He stood up from the table. “I feed you. I keep a roof over your head. That’s enough.”
The candles flickered between us.
“I just tolerate you, kid.”
It felt like all the air disappeared from the room.
Mom quickly stepped in, taking the cake from my hands before I dropped it.
“Go to your room,” she whispered.
I looked at her, waiting for her to defend me.
Instead, she said softly, “Just… leave him alone for a while.”
That hurt almost worse.
I locked myself in my room and cried harder than I had since Dad left.
The next morning, the cake was gone.
Nobody mentioned it again.
For two days, I barely came out except for school.
Greg didn’t knock on my door.
Didn’t apologize.
Didn’t even look guilty.
Saturday morning, Mom left early for a double shift. Greg was supposed to be home.
Around noon, I finally went downstairs for cereal.
At first, I thought he was sleeping.
He was lying on the kitchen floor beside a shattered coffee mug.
But something felt wrong immediately.
His eyes were half open.
His skin looked gray.
“Greg?”
