That day, when I lost everything (part 2)

   It all started a few years ago...

   Back then, everything was... fine. My dad ran a modest business—not flashy, but solid. We lived in a quiet neighborhood, took family trips now and then, and never really had to worry about money. I went to a decent school, had a group of friends I trusted, even had a girlfriend. We talked about the future like it was a promise. Life felt steady.

   But promises break.

   It started with the company. A couple of bad calls, a client pulling out—and just like that, the ground beneath us shifted. My dad tried to patch the cracks, but they kept widening. Eventually, the business went under, and we lost the house. We moved somewhere smaller, quieter, like we were trying to disappear.

   At first, I thought we’d bounce back. My dad always made things work. But this time was different. My mom left soon after—no fight, no goodbye. Just a note on the kitchen counter and empty hangers in her closet. After that, my dad didn’t talk much. Not to me, not to anyone. He just... faded.

   I had to leave school. The tuition was too much, and no one was offering scholarships to kids whose families had just lost everything. So I started working wherever I could. Fast food. Delivery. Odd jobs. Anything to keep the lights on.

   Friends stopped calling. My girlfriend moved on. It wasn’t sudden—it was more like a slow drift, like watching something you care about float away while you stand still.

   Eventually, it was just me and him.

   That night started like any other. The fridge was nearly empty, so I was in the kitchen, scraping together something vaguely dinner-shaped. My dad was in the living room, TV on low, half-asleep with a drink in hand.

   Then the doorbell rang.

   It was strange. Nobody visited us. Not anymore.

   I wiped my hands on a towel and opened the door.

   Two men stood there. Black suits. Sunglasses. The kind of look you only see in movies, and even then, only before something bad happens.

   “Uh—” I started to speak, but I didn’t even get to finish the word.

   One of them moved fast. Too fast.

   There was a sharp jolt in my side. My whole body locked up, pain slicing through me like lightning. My knees buckled, and I hit the floor hard. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Everything was spinning.

   But I could still hear.

   Footsteps. A soft thud as someone stepped over me. Voices. And then—his voice.

   My dad.

   He didn’t sound scared. He didn’t even ask what was happening.

   “Yeah, he’s the one,” he said, like he was confirming a pizza order. “Now, where’s the rest of my money?”

   I couldn’t believe it. My own father.

   There was the sound of cash—paper shifting, bills being counted. Then the faint clink of his bottle being set down.

   I lay there, frozen on the floor, listening to it all. Not understanding. Not really.

   The men grabbed my arms. Dragged me toward the door. I caught a final glimpse of my dad as they pulled me out. He didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. He just lit a cigarette and leaned back on the couch like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

   And that’s when I knew.

   I wasn’t just abandoned. I was sold.

   But what surprised me most at the time was not the fact that I was betrayed by my own father after doing everything I could to keep us together, but the fact that it didn't bother me at all. To be honest, at that moment I didn't feel anything special... maybe a little disappointment deep in my heart, that's all.