Chapter 9 - The Demands of Blood
The front door banged open again as Amanda marched out, wheeling her luxury suitcase behind her, phone pressed to her ear as she ordered a ride. She didn't look at Jason once. She walked past him as if he were roadkill, disappearing down the gravel drive toward the main road.
Mom stumbled out of the house behind her, weeping hysterically, her apron askew. "Amanda! Amanda, wait! It's a mistake! We can work this out!"
When Amanda didn't even turn around, Mom fell to her knees beside Jason, wrapping her arms around his trembling shoulders. She looked up at me, her face contorted with pure, unadulterated venom.
"You!" she screamed, her voice echoing into the quiet suburban night. "You ruined him! You brought that woman into our lives and destroyed your brother! You had her uncle fire him! How could you be so evil? How could a son do this to his own family?!"
"Eleanor, stop it!" Dad roared suddenly.
The roar was so violent, so unexpected, that Mom froze mid-sob. Dad was shaking with rage, his fists clenched tight at his sides, staring down at the pathetic heap of his wife and favored son.
"He didn't steal that money, Eleanor! Jason did!" Dad yelled, tears finally spilling over his aged cheeks. "Brian didn't write those fake invoices! Jason did! For twenty years you've coddled this boy, made excuses for every lie, every failure, every insult he threw at his brother, and now look at what you’ve built! A thief! A coward who can't even face the consequences of his own greed!"
Mom shrank back, terrified. Dad had never raised his voice to her in their entire forty-year marriage.
"Arthur..." Mom whimpered, "we have to help him. If he gets arrested, the family name—"
"The family name?" Dad scoffed bitterly. "What family name? The only person in this family who built an honest, honorable name with his own hands is the son we ignored."
Dad turned to face me. The shame in his eyes was so profound, so heavy, it looked like it was crushing his spine. He took a step toward me, reaching a trembling hand outward. "Brian... son. I... I didn't know. I was blind. I let your mother run things, I stayed quiet because it was easier than fighting... God, Brian, I am so sorry."
I looked at my father. For years, I had dreamed of hearing those words. I had fantasized about the moment they would finally realize that I was worthy of their love, that I had value. But standing there, watching him break, I felt no triumphant rush of adrenaline. I only felt an overwhelming sense of profound sorrow.
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"I know you're sorry, Dad," I said quietly. "And I forgive you. But forgiveness doesn't mean things go back to how they were. Because the truth is, they were never good."
Emily stepped up beside me, resting her hand gently on my shoulder. Baby Nathan stirred, opening his bright, innocent eyes, looking around at the dark night without fear, secure in his mother's arms.
