The Widow And the Heir

“Your father is dead. He had a heart attack. Come home now.” The words rang over and over again in my ear. Your father is dead. First of all, I never thought my father would die so easily... A heart attack? The man always acted like he could fight anything, guess he couldn't fight death. I've been away from home for over a year now. I never saw eye to eye with my father, we barely even tolerated each other. Then, he married a woman who wasn't much older than me and I couldn't stand her, I couldn't stand seeing the both of them together, so I left home. Now a year later, that same woman called me, announcing my father's death. So I booked the next available flight home. I had to honor his death even though I loathed the man while he was alive. Now here I was, standing in front of the Tate mansion. Flashbacks of the day I left came flooding back new and fresh in my memory. I stared at the gates that once held me captive, the huge house that felt like a prison to me. My father had told me that day that if I left, I should forget that I was the son of Weston Tate. I had run off, swearing never to come back to this place…this hell. I didn't expect to be back so soon because Weston Tate had died. I strode in and headed straight to my old room…if it still belonged to me though. I was pretty sure my father must have burned everything that belonged to me…or maybe his new wife would have done it instead. As if right on cue, I heard footsteps behind me and turned. There she was. The gold digger. “Charles?” I hadn't forgotten that voice, that voice that introduced herself to me a year ago and thought I would accept her as my stepmother. It was a low pitched, smooth voice, almost melodic…ugh! She's so pretentious. “Did you come here yourself?” She said when I didn't answer her. “ I could have sworn I sent a driver to pick you.” I frowned at her, making it clear that I still hated her even after a year. “I saw the driver you sent, but I chose to ignore him.” Her hair was still deep brown and shiny, she still had big dark eyes and her body remained small…almost fragile, like she was so delicate you could break her if you tried…..she was like a doll. She smiled and revealed her perfectly arranged, perfect white teeth. “It's alright, I guess I went overboard. Sorry about that.” I was just rude to her and she apologized? She's such a pretender! I cursed inwardly. She continued, still smiling at me. “I had your room cleaned up yesterday and today too, so that it's perfect for you. Also, everything is as it is…exactly as you left it.” “And who's fault is it that I left?” “I'm not sure about that.” She replied almost immediately, still smiling. Ugh! This woman… “Stop smiling!” I screamed at her, “it's annoying me so bad.” “Sorry about that. I'll leave you to rest.” “Also,” she said as I was about to enter my room. “Dinner is by six.” I ignored her and slammed the door loud enough to pass across my message of pure hatred to her. Who does she think she is? Acting all calm and mature, making me look like the crazy one. The earrings she was wearing must have cost billions…. courtesy of my father's wealth. She was walking around acting like a household queen when she's only a gold digger who married an old man for money. The best option for me would be to avoid her like a plague, I would endure living with her just up until my father's burial. At exactly 6pm, Celia sent someone up to remind me about dinner. I sent the person back down with a message for her.. ‘go to hell.’ Few minutes later, she barged into my room, holding a tray of food. “Can't you knock?!” This woman didn't respect my privacy at all. “I'm sorry. I had a feeling you won't open up for me, and the tray of food was quite heavy.” “I'm not eating that.” “Can I know why?” “I don't want anything that comes from you.” She only smiled and moved closer to me. “I was hoping we could discuss some things over dinner. Trust me, I don't mean to invade your privacy but it's quite urgent.” I eyed her. “What's that?” “About your father….I know you wouldn't be bothered by his funeral arrangements, and I don't mind handling it myself…” I scoffed at her goody two shoes act. “....but there's an important decision I can't make without consulting you first.” I noticed that she looked serious now. “Should we bury or cremate him?” “You can bury him for all I care. I won't be bothered about burning his body and pouring his ashes.” She didn't seem shocked at my choice of words. “Okay then.” She turned to leave… “Take that with you,” I pointed at the tray. She smiled and carried it with her, “whatever you say.” With that, she slipped out, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click that somehow irritated me more than if she had slammed it. Is she really not going to be angry at me? Gosh she's so good at pretending! I sat in silence, my stomach growled with hunger but my pride was bigger. She was asking for my opinion... Funny, because I couldn't care less what she did with his dead body. Weston Tate never treated me like a son….just a burden, an inconvenience that he couldn't get rid of. He’d always said I was too stubborn, too loud, too much like my mother. Maybe that’s why he replaced her with someone quiet, poised, and utterly fake. And now I was supposed to help honor him? Please… I glanced around the room. True to her word, it was exactly the same. The same posters still clung to the walls. My books sat untouched on the shelves. She was telling the truth about keeping everything intact…it didn't matter though. I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure what the next few days held for us but I knew one thing for sure… I didn’t trust her. Not her kindness, not her smile, and definitely not the fact that she was suddenly so eager to include me in decisions. She’d won my father over….tempted him with her young body and cool voice. But it wasn't going to work with me. Celia Tate will get nothing but pure dislike and avoidance from me.