𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘦.

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎.

George didn't have to beg his parents much, they already understood the situation. He had to share his room, but that was just fine.

Paul laid on the extra in the corner of the room, wailing into the sheets. He messed up. He knew James wasn't being the father he should be, but he was struggling. He didn't eat, sleep, he was depressed. That didn't give him an excuse to be absent, however, he understood why he was so closed off.

Macca said the worst thing he could. He said to the only parent he had left that he wished he was dead. It was clear from the look on James' face that his face, his heart was broken. He never looked that upset. He was upset when Mary died, yes, but his son hated him so much that he wished him gone. That deepened the wound.

What would mum think of me now?

I made everything worse.

My family is broken.

Mum, help me.

-

Paul stayed in bed all day. He didn't eat, look at anyone, he didn't even get up to piss. His body was numb.

"Paul?" George's timid voice brought him back into reality. "You wanna talk to me?"

"No."

"You sure?"

Fuck off.

"Yes."

George knew he was pissing him off, so he decided to leave him alone. Paul dozed off, his face still buried in the tear-stained blankets.

---------------------------------------------

"Son."

He turned around and gasped when he saw his healthy mother standing with her arms folded across her chest in a bright pink dress.

He began to run to her with open arms but stopped dead in his tracks. She looked mad.

"James," that name was only used when he was in very deep water, "I'm very angry."

He looked down.

"I understand you're very upset, and I'm sorry I had to burden you even in death, but how dare you talk to your father like that. I know it seems like he just forgot about you, I'm not happy with him either, but I want you to understand that he cares a lot. He's broken, James.

I know your father tapped out, and I'm down out furious with that, but I sympathize with him as well. I would probably be the same way if I was him. I sympathize with you as well. Ever since I got sick, I burdened you with fear and house chores. Now it seems like I still burden you. I'm sorry. I'm not a good mother. Your father isn't the best, but when I was sick he took care of me, you, and Mike. When I died, his mind broke and his heart cracked. I know that doesn't excuse him but try to understand that."

"Mum..." Paul spoke quietly, "You're a good mum. You just got sick, and it's ok. I knew you tried your best with me, even when the cancer got bad."

She smiled, "I'm proud of you. You already grew up when I was there, and now you're growing even more. You're so handsome, and I'm happy you made friends. I'm happy with you."

Paul's hands shook and he began to cry, "Don't be happy with me. I failed, mum. Mike's in hospital, he hurt himself. It's all my fault. I'm not good enough. I'm not perfect."

Mary slowly walked to him, her long dress moving like water. She hugged him. Paul cried into her shoulder, feeling like a little boy again.

"It's not. Mike is a mix of you and your father. He tries to move on, but he breaks down and cracks. I feel terrible for burdening him as well, but I'm happy he's going to get help now.

You're all not perfect, and that makes me very glad. Nobody's perfect, and those who think they are aren't. Everyone's a rose. They can be the most beautiful and healthy flower, yet there's always that one floppy petal, a dead one, or a miscolored one. Everyone has thorns. I'm joyous you aren't perfect. I'm glad you're my rose." She rubbed his back.

Paul took it all in, then asked his most thought-about question, "Mum, I know I make mistakes, but would you do if you were me?"

"Let it be. All things must pass after all."

-------------------------------------------------

Paul woke up, feeling lighter. He slowly moved his sticky face away from the blanket and sat up. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He looked out the window and was greeted by tiny white snowflakes falling in the sky. He couldn't believe it was dark already. Something told him to go the ceremony, and that's exactly what he did. He put on his shoes and coat and walked in the snow.

When he was there, he saw John there as well, hugging his knees and curled up in a ball.

"Lenny?"

John looked up as Paul sat next to him. "I'm scared..."

"Why?"

"Cynthia's pregnant." Paul's eyes turned wide with surprise, "I wanna be a dad, but I can't even take care of myself. What if I turn out like my father? What if make the baby broken like me?"

"There are enough broken fathers in this world, but there's also a lot of good ones. You can be a good one."

John's fingers trembled as he held his cigarette, "How?"

"Just let it be, let it happen. You're going to take care of Cynthia and the baby, I know you will.

John still hung his head.

-

On Monday, everything felt so different. Pete was now the most hated kid in school, Cynthia and John stayed close to each and quiet, Paul was surprisingly cheerful, and everyone just had this heaviness to them.

Ringo was putting his stuff in his locker when he heard a familiar snotty voice call his name, "Hey, Ringo."

Oh boy. Not him again.

He turned around, trying to look tough, "What you want, best?"

"Look man, I'm sorry about the party. I know I messed up big time." Ringo's act dropped when Pete said that. "I know George, Paul, and John won't talk to me, but I figured I'll make it up to you at least."

"How?"

"If you don't mind, we can go to a pub after school tomorrow. I'll pick you up at the library."

Ringo smiled, "Uh, sure. I won't mind. Thanks."

Pete smiled but didn't show any teeth, "Wonderful. We're gonna have a great time!"