Uncertain future

I stared at the walls of my empty home, my words swallowed by the silence. I’d yelled myself hoarse, but it changed nothing. I was expected to be perfect. I couldn’t spill all this to a therapist or break down in front of anyone. But here, alone, I didn’t have to hide. The tears fell freely now, streaming down my face, the only release I had from the crushing hollowness inside me. My son, who’d never smiled for me, had smiled for a stranger. A stranger who married his mother and slipped into the life I’d built, while I’d been erased from it.

I was a failure—a failed husband, a failed father. No friends to turn to, no family who’d understand. I wiped my nose and rubbed my eyes, the red rimmed edges stinging from hours of crying.

Dragging myself to the fridge, I grabbed a beer—two, actually. Sleep was impossible these days without a drink, maybe more. I popped both caps and settled on the sofa in front of the TV, hoping the noise would drown out the quiet that felt suffocating tonight. Midnight came and went, the empty hours ticking on.

Then my phone buzzed, cutting through the static. I stared at the screen—my secretary, calling at this hour? I took a long drink, forcing myself to answer with the most professional tone I could muster.

“Hello?”

Instead of his voice, there was a girl on the other end, and she was furious, calling me a jerk and blaming me for her brother’s sleepless nights. She was screaming, but her words blurred in my head. Without thinking, I yelled back, all my frustration and anger spilling over into a stream of incoherent words. I could barely make sense of what I was saying, only that I wanted to hurt back.

Then my secretary’s voice broke through. “Sir, are you okay?” he asked softly, sounding genuinely concerned.

I hung up, dropping the phone on the couch. I was too exhausted, too overwhelmed to answer, but sleep still wouldn’t come. So I kept watching the TV, the sounds blending into the hum of my thoughts.

Minutes later, the doorbell rang. I opened it without thinking, barely bothering to check who it was. My secretary, Benny, stood there with a teenage girl at his side.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together. “What are you doing here, Benny?” I said, my voice sharper than I’d intended.

He glanced at me, unflinching. “I wanted to check up on you,” he explained.

I scoffed, bitterness rising. “Oh? Did my mom ask you to do that?” I said sarcastically, already knowing the answer. My mother had her own way of showing “care” by sending people instead of showing up herself. Growing up, she’d never asked about my well-being, only flaunted me to others like a trophy, making others responsible for “caring” for me while she played the proud parent.

Benny shook his head calmly. “No, sir. She didn’t.” His voice was steady, even kind. “Can we come in?”

I hesitated, then stepped aside, letting them into my hollow world without a second thought.