Then — the PC screen lit up.
A pre-recorded video started playing.
"Father. Mother. Are you happy now?"
"You should be. I guess. Why wouldn't you be?"
"You wanted me to gain the respect and recognition of other people."
"Which I got. You wanted a comfortable, secure future. I built that. But… not for myself. For you."
"You… you… wanted others to say: 'If only our son was like yours.'"
"You wanted me to forget my dream and focus on my future. And I did."
"But my dream… I could never forget it."
"I earned more than enough money we ever needed."
"You don't need to worry about the future anymore. It's taken care of."
"Sister… you know how I made the videos. You can keep uploading them. Let the world believe I'm alive. They won't know."
"Do you remember when I said I wanted to be a writer?"
"You said no. You said it was a waste of time."
"Maybe… you were right."
"I lost it. I can't write anymore. My mind is blank. My stories… are gone."
"And without them… I'm nothing."
"I'm sorry I'm leaving this way. My purpose. My soul. My goal. My reason to live."
"I lost it. I lost my writing. I lost my soul."
"Goodbye."
As the video ended… silence filled the room.
And then—
they burst into tears.
Father's hands trembled as he reached for the screen, as if he could pull him back.
Mother held her mouth, choking on her cries, her body shaking like a leaf in a storm.
And the sister—she fell to her knees, the phone slipping from her hands, still playing his voice like an echo from a world that no longer existed.
His father cried out loud.
"You don't have to be sorry for anything. You did everything we asked. We're the ones who should be sorry… for not listening to you…"
They cried.
They cried until the night turned into dawn.
Until their throats were raw and breathless.
Until there were no more tears left to give.
But the pain remained.
Because in their hands was everything he gave up…
And everything they couldn't give back.