𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐈𝐋 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐇𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐀
𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑
𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟓

The sterile scent of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, an unwelcome counterpoint to the stale odor of grief that permeated the hospice room. My mother, a frail shadow of her former self, lay motionless in the bed, the rhythmic rasp of her breath the only sign she clung to life. Her illness, a cruel twist of fate exacerbated by years of self-destruction, weighed heavily on my heart.

Dad, a hulking figure dwarfed by the armchair beside the bed, nursed a glass of amber liquid, the clink against his teeth a jarring note in the solemn silence. Disgust churned in my gut. Even with Mom on her deathbed, he couldn't resist his vice.

The air crackled with unspoken tension, a familiar undercurrent in our dysfunctional family. The arrival of Cheyanne, a beacon of light in this desolate landscape, had only intensified the cracks. Her fiery spirit had exposed the ugliness that festered beneath the surface, his disrespect for her, a mirror reflecting his treatment of us all.

Cheyanne's absence left a gaping hole in my chest. Her note, the money tucked within, a bittersweet testament to her love and strength. Reading it again, her words echoed in my head: "Take care of yourself, Marlon. But I can't stay here."

Suddenly, the fog in my mind cleared. I couldn't stay here either. Not in this house, not with this man masquerading as a father.

"You happy now?" I spat, my voice tight with years of pent-up anger. "Cheyanne's gone. Mom's barely hanging on. All thanks to you."

Dad's bloodshot eyes snapped towards me. "Don't you dare-" he began, a low growl emanating from his throat. But before he could finish, the dam within me broke.

"Don't you dare what, Dad?" I challenged, my voice rising with each word. "Don't you dare pretend you haven't seen this coming? Mom's been drowning herself in sorrow for years, and you've been the anchor dragging her down!"

He slammed his glass on the bedside table, the sound echoing through the sterile room. "You watch your mouth, boy!" he roared, his face contorted with rage.

"Boy?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "The only boy here is the one who needs a drink to face his failures as a husband and a father!"

A vein throbbed in his temple, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. "You think you know anything about failure, son?" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You chased away the only decent woman who ever looked your way with your temper and your big city dreams!"

"Decent?" I yelled back, unable to contain my anger. "The only thing decent about Billie was her distance! You couldn't handle a strong woman, Dad, not Mom, not Cheyanne, not even your own daughters who cower at your every word!"

His face contorted further, a mixture of rage and something akin to shame flickering in his eyes. "They respect me!" he bellowed, his voice cracking.

"Respect?" I echoed, shaking my head in disbelief. "Fear, Dad, that's what they feel. Fear of your drunken outbursts, fear of your disappointment, fear of being the next target of your rage!"

Silence descended upon the room, heavy and suffocating. Dad's chest heaved, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The amber liquid in his glass sloshed precariously, threatening to spill over.

"You think you're better than us, don't you?" he finally rasped, his voice quieter now, laced with a hint of desperation. "You think your fancy city life will wash away the stink of this place?"

A wave of sadness washed over me, battling with the anger that still simmered beneath the surface.  "It's not about being better, Dad," I sighed, the fight momentarily draining out of me. "It's about breaking free.  Cheyanne showed me a different way to live, a way filled with love and respect, not fear and control."

He stared at me, his face an unreadable mask.  "Love? You think that city tart loved you? She was just using you, son, just like everyone else!"

"Don't you dare talk about her like that!" I roared, a surge of protectiveness rising within me. "Cheyanne saw me, Dad. All of me, the good and the bad. And she loved me anyway."

A long, heavy silence stretched between us, broken only by the rasp of Mom's labored breaths. The air crackled with unspoken words, a lifetime of resentment and unspoken truths hanging heavy in the room.