That evening, the house lights shone with a peculiar brilliance, almost unreal. Around the table, my mother Lysandra's laughter echoed like a forgotten melody. My older sister Reyna and my gentle Kyte completed this picture of perfect happiness. I was the happiest man in the world, surrounded by the three pillars of my existence. Even my father's absence couldn't tarnish this warmth.
Suddenly, my mother's phone rang, shattering the harmony of the living room. She answered with a radiant smile, probably expecting a simple friendly greeting. But in an instant, her face fell apart, losing all color like a withered flower. The phone slipped from her trembling fingers and crashed onto the carpet in deadly silence. Tears streamed down her cheeks, yet not a single sound escaped her lips.
"Mother, what is it?" I asked, my heart already tight with a dull dread. She didn't answer, her gaze fixed on a void only I had yet to perceive. Reyna approached, placing a protective hand on her shoulder, her voice broken with worry. Kyte, in a soft but concerned tone, asked if she felt unwell or was having trouble breathing. My mother's silence was more terrifying than any scream of pain or fear.
As they hurried around her, I bent down to pick up the still-lit phone. The call hadn't ended; a steady breath came from the cold receiver. "Who's on the line?" I asked, in a voice I barely recognized. A familiar voice answered—Carlos, my father's loyal secretary. "Mr. Eren… is that you?" he asked, in an oddly grave and solemn tone.
"Carlos… what's wrong?" I pressed, feeling the ground slip from under my bare feet. A long sigh preceded the words that would change the course of my entire life. "My condolences… sir, your father died in a private jet accident." The news struck me like a dagger to the heart, a cold, instantaneous pain. My legs gave out, and I had to lean against the wall to avoid collapsing.
My father and I weren't close; our worlds were too different to unite. Yet the announcement of his sudden death left an immense void in my son's chest. "Eren, what did he say?" Reyna asked, reading the disaster on my pale face. I remained silent for a long moment, searching for words that wouldn't shatter the rest of my family. "I'm sorry, big sister… Carlos says dad won't come back. He's dead."
My sister nearly fainted, her eyes widening in shock at this brutal reality. She asked if it was a mistake, a cruel joke, or just a waking nightmare. But Carlos's voice was too real, too final to leave room for hope. We got into the car in a trance, heading to the hospital designated by the secretary. The ride was heavy with silence, broken only by Lysandra's muffled sobs.
Upon our arrival, reality struck with the force of a devastating summer storm. My father lay there, lifeless, far from his usual power. My mother collapsed over him, crying torrents of grief from the depths of her soul. Reyna, on the other hand, remained terrifyingly calm, her eyes lost in the contemplation of nothingness. She tried to hold back her tears, as if giving in would make our father's death irreversible.
My father had been a respected man, a great entrepreneur whose name shone across the country. He owned two colossal companies, fruits of relentless work and an old legacy. One was his personal creation, his pride, while the other belonged to our family lineage. We were a wealthy family, shielded by money and social prestige. I had naively believed that this security would protect us from misery and grief.
Two days passed like a shadow, leading to the fateful moment of the solemn funeral. There was a massive crowd, unfamiliar somber faces I had never seen. My extended family was there, draped in black, displaying a grief that seemed cruelly artificial. The burial ended under a gray sky, giving way to an anticipation I hadn't foreseen. My father's death seemed only a prelude for vultures hungry for fortune.
The time came for the reading of the will in the cold notary's office. What it contained shocked the gathering, but it was my heart that took the fatal blow. There was only one sentence, short and sharp like a guillotine blade. "I bequeath everything I have to my son Eduard," read the official document. Everyone looked around in astonishment, searching for the mysterious heir.
Then a young boy entered, holding the hand of a woman we didn't know. She appeared to be his mother, radiating an assurance that insulted our grief and our name. Documents were handed to her before our powerless eyes, sealing our financial and moral downfall. Chaos erupted among the family members who felt wronged. In my heart, it was worse: a sense of paternal betrayal from beyond the grave.
It should have been me who inherited the fortune and the family business. It was a moral obligation, a path traced since birth by our bloodline traditions. My father had lied to us, hiding an entire life behind our backs and our smiles. After the ceremony, I isolated myself in a corner of the garden, trying to breathe again. I was filled with conflicting emotions, torn between mourning and the rage of the betrayed.
Should I mourn the man's death or despise the act of the one who stole everything from us? That's when my only ray of light, Kyte, slowly approached me in the shadows. She placed her hand over mine, her gaze filled with undeserved compassion. "Are you okay, Eren?" she asked softly, and it hurt. I shook my head, unable to lie before the sincerity in her clear, loving eyes.
"No… I'm not… my father had another life, and he took everything from us." I explained my pain to her, the pain of not knowing whether to honor his memory or curse his name. I nearly shed a tear, the last defense of my dignity against this blatant injustice. She sat beside me, wrapping an arm protectively around my neck to support me. "Cry for your father, Eren, forget the money and betrayal for a moment."
"With or without your fortune, you remain Eren Frost, the man I love more than anything." Her words were a pure light in the total darkness consuming my broken mind. "Cry," she continued, noticing that I still fought against the truth of my own anguish. And so, I collapsed in her arms, letting my sorrow flow like a black river. It was the end of my life as a wealthy child and the beginning of a long, exhausting struggle.
A year passed, carrying us away from luxury into a more modest reality. We moved into my mother's father's small house, far from the city. It was by no means spacious, but it was enough shelter to try to survive. We had to start over, leaving servants and privileges behind to embrace the harshness of labor. My mother opened a small neighborhood café, selling her preparations with courage.
My older sister Reyna had to quit her studies, sacrificing her future for ours. She now worked in a small grocery store, counting every penny to help us get by. With my mother's and sister's agreement, I was the only one allowed to continue my studies. They wanted me to succeed, to be the one to lift us from this pit someday. I vowed to work harder than anyone else to finally give them the comfort they deserved.
At my father's death, I had just turned eighteen. Due to our sudden ruin, I had to wait a full year before enrolling. University felt like a distant dream, but I clung to it like a lifeline. I wanted to become the man my father hadn't had the decency to be for the three of us. But fate was not done with us; it had a far crueler twist in store.
News arrived, more devastating than losing our home and status. The grocery store where Reyna worked was violently robbed in broad daylight. My sister was hit by a stray bullet—a senseless end for such a devoted girl. She died instantly, taking with her her youthful dreams and weary smiles. I couldn't believe it; the world collapsed a second time upon our fragile heads.
My mother never recovered from the loss of her first child. She became an empty shell, a shadow haunting the rooms of our small gray house. She barely spoke, her gaze fixed on faded family photos. She stopped sleeping, spending nights staring at the ceiling, awaiting a dawn without hope. She worked tirelessly, killing herself with labor to forget the immense void left by Reyna.
I couldn't watch her torment herself, exhausting every day in the café. I tried to dissuade her, promising I'd find a job to feed the two of us. She responded with a sad smile, asking only that I continue my studies for her honor. But her heart was too heavy, too worn by the successive tragedies we had endured. Two months after my sister's death, my mother passed away from grief.
Three years of solitude followed, leaving me alone with my books and painful memories. I believed Kyte was my last refuge, the only reason I kept standing. Yet I felt her drifting away, as if misfortune had become contagious. She spoke less, her messages became rare, her visits faded into distant memories. I searched desperately for a logical explanation for this oppressive silence.
Was it because I worked too much, juggling studies and a draining part-time job? I still tried to make time for her, to preserve the precious bond between us. My loneliness became unbearable, each day a struggle against total despair. One evening, returning from university, I decided to break this wall of silence. I bought a bouquet of fresh flowers, hoping to rekindle the flickering flame of our love.
She was the only family I had left, my last tether to human life. I couldn't afford to lose her, not after seeing my entire universe die. I arrived at her apartment, my heart pounding in my fear-tightened chest. The flowers trembled in my hands as I prepared to knock on her closed door. But I heard voices inside, muffled laughter not meant for me at all.
One voice was Kyte's, the other belonging to a man I didn't know. An uncontrollable impulse drove me to open the door without waiting for her response. What I saw chilled me more than my father's death ever could. Kyte, my love, my last hope, was kissing another man with cruel passion. She sat there, perched on his lap, forgetting everything we had endured together to survive.
A hoarse whisper finally escaped my throat, a broken murmur like a final breath. "Kyte…" I said softly, as if hoping my eyes were still deceiving me. She turned to me, showing neither surprise, shame, nor regret. She looked simply at me, her once loving eyes now cold as tombstone marble. She murmured a single "hmm," putting an end to the only story keeping me upright.
The tragedy of my life closed over this tableau of infidelity, in the shadows of that living room. I thought of my father, my sister Reyna, my mother Lysandra, all gone too soon. I was Eren Frost, yet nothing remained of the happy man I had been one night. The darkness of the room seemed to draw me in, inviting me to join the eternal silence of those I loved. The bouquet fell to the floor, petals already dying, wasted.
It was the end of the road, the final act of a play in which fate had won. I stood there, watching the love of my life in the arms of a perfect stranger. There were no more tears, no more rage, only an immense weariness wrapping around me like a shroud. The world continued outside, but for me, everything stopped in front of that open door. The tragedy was complete; silence could finally take over my devastated, empty soul.