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523words
"I have no conscience? Look who's talking!"
I couldn't hold it in any longer. I pulled the death certificate I carried everywhere from my bag and slammed it against her chest.
"You want your son? Here he is! This is your son!"
"Your son is dead! He died the moment you abandoned him for your lover, when you made him go to his lesson alone! He was hit by a car and killed on the spot!"
"You want to know where he is? He died because of you!"
"If you had any conscience left, you'd go join him!"
My words were like a boulder dropped into a deep pool, sending waves crashing in all directions.
Emma clutched the death certificate, shaking her head wildly. "No! Impossible! Max said he knew the way! He knew the way…"
"You're lying to me! You just don't want me to see him!"
Seeing her belated tears, I lunged forward and slapped her hard across the face. "Alive or dead, you can easily find out yourself!"
I was about to hit her again when Liam, heartbroken, jumped in front of her, shoving me back and punching me in the face.
Thud. My entire left side went numb.
"Stop bullying Emma!" he screamed at me.
I lost it. I grabbed him and slammed him into the wall, kicking and punching.
Liam was no match for me. He curled up, sobbing hysterically, crying out for "Emma… Emma…"
But Emma just knelt on the floor, clutching the death certificate, shaking her head, completely broken.
By the time security pulled us apart, Liam was covered in bruises, unable to even make a sound.
Emma finally snapped out of it. She looked up at me, her eyes bloodshot. "I don't believe it! I won't believe it!"
She grabbed the certificate, turned, and ran out, ignoring Liam's desperate cries behind her.
My mother-in-law was brought out of surgery.
It seemed like a final rally. She looked more alert and spirited than before.
She talked to me about the old days, before she got really sick, when she loved playing mahjong, would have a hot meal ready when I got off work, and kept the house spotless.
The year I was pregnant with Max, she was hospitalized. She’d always cry with guilt, saying she was a burden. After our son was born, the house was filled with so much more laughter.
Finally, she took my hand. "Brian, this is my fault. I didn't raise my daughter right."
"I heard everything you said outside the operating room."
"Go. Call my lawyer."
Mother passed at three in the morning.
Emma, her own daughter, hadn't even made it back to say goodbye.
I didn't know what kept her. I handled the funeral arrangements.
Mother's lawyer told me she'd left everything to me. Emma got nothing.
The house we lived in was bought outright by Mother. Since she left it to me, I went back to pack.
I opened the door to find them wrapped around each other.
