04: A FATHER TO HIS SON
1145 Words
After breakfast, Gabriel grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
George followed him instinctively. “Gabriel,” he called.
The boy stopped, but didn’t turn.
“I just want to talk,” George said carefully.
But the boy did not say anything.
"I’m your father.” The words felt heavy as they left his lips.
Gabriel finally turned around. His expression was unreadable. “I know what people say,” Gabriel said.
George frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“They say my real dad is a criminal,” Gabriel continued. “That he disappeared because he did something bad.”
George felt his stomach drop.
“That’s not true,” he said quickly. “I was taken. I was..."
“I don’t care. You don't need to explain your side. I already know." The words were sharp. Gabriel’s eyes hardened.
“I finally have a normal life,” he said. “I finally have a real father.” He glanced briefly toward the dining room... Toward Silvestry.
Then back at George.
"Don’t ruin it.” the boy told him. As if he is pushing his real father to leave this house.
George felt his breath catch. Those words hurt more than anything else. More than rejections and insults. They were honest about telling him that words were full of lies.
What happened? George even asked himself.
“.. I understand,” George told his son quietly.
Gabriel didn’t respond. He simply turned and walked out the door. Leaving George behind again.
George stood there long after the door closed. Then the silence felt heavier now. Behind him, footsteps approached.
“Tough kid,” Silvestry said casually.
George didn’t turn. "He’s my son.”
Silvestry let out a soft laugh. “Not anymore.”
George closed his eyes. His hands clenched slowly into fists. Because for the first time, something inside him didn’t just hurt, it resisted.
Maybe love wasn’t enough. Maybe patience wouldn’t fix this. And maybe George Werch didn’t need to beg anymore. But he chose to remain where he was, he is positive that he can win his son's heart. Maybe not later, but sooner.
The house grew quieter after Gabriel left. But not as peaceful, it felt like an empty house.
George remained standing where he was, his eyes fixed on the closed door, as if waiting for it to open again. But it didn’t.
Behind him, Silvestry walked past without a second glance, as though George were nothing more than furniture.
“Don’t just stand there,” he said lazily. “Clean the whole house"
George moved. Not because he wanted to, but because his body had learned to obey.
Plates. Cups. Scraps of food, laundry and even scrubbing the floor.
Each item he picked up felt heavier than it should. Not from weight, but from what it meant. This wasn’t his home anymore. It was a place where he existed… but did not belong to him.
One afternoon, George stepped outside for the first time in days.
For a brief moment, he just stood outside of the gate breathing it in, as if reminding himself that the world was still larger than the walls he had trapped himself in.
Then, a black Lamborghini car slowly pulled up in front of the house. George frowned, because It was familiar.
The door opened, and a man in a clean, dark suit stepped out. His posture was straight, his expression calm, but his eyes were sharp.
He walked directly toward George.
“Master Werch,” the man said respectfully and bow his head in a little.
George froze. It had been a long time since anyone addressed him like that.
“You came for the wrong person,” George replied quietly.
The man didn’t react. Instead, he reached into his coat and handed George a sealed envelope.
“You’ve been away for a long time,” he said. “But someone… never stopped waiting for you. Your father is worried."
George hesitated before taking it. The paper felt familiar in his hands, it was folded net and cleaned properly.
" What did he tell you?” George asked.
The man gave a small nod. “He just wants to remind you. That, he still remembers who you are.”
Then the man turned and walked back to the car. No explanation, and no hesitation. The car drove off as quietly as it arrived. Leaving George alone.
Slowly, George opened the envelope. Inside of it were documents. It's official and detailed. Suddenly, his eyes scanned the first page.
And everything inside him went still. Ownership records, financial reports. And the undersigned name, was him. Only him.
And not as a servant in this house.
He is actually George Werch, the Primary Heir of one of the biggest companies in the city.
George's grip tightened. As he checked every page, the after page and he confirmed it. It was about the empire he abandoned before... was still his. It remains untouched and waiting for him to return.
“George!”
Selene’s voice cut through his thoughts.
George quickly lowered the papers as she approached, her expression irritated.
“What are you doing out there?” she asked. “There’s still work inside.”
George looked at her. For a moment, just a moment something in his gaze changed, Not pain, nor pleading. It was quiet.
“…I’ll be there,” George said.
Selene frowned slightly, as if sensing something different, but she brushed it off.
“Don’t take too long,” she said before turning away.
George watched her go. Then slowly… he looked back down at the documents again. It was about his past, the family's power and his name.
All still within reach. For days, he had endured everything for love. For forgiveness. His fingers tightened around the papers. Maybe, he had been fighting for the wrong thing.
That night, as the house fell asleep, George sat alone in the living room. The envelope rested on the table in front of him. It was opened, so he realized that when everything turns to bad, at least he has a good memory.
From upstairs, faint laughter echoed. It was Selene and Silvestry. A sound that once shattered him, now it only left silence behind.
George leaned back slowly, his eyes dark and distant.
"Not anymore,” he murmured.
Far away, in a towering building. A boardroom full of executives sat in tense silence. At the head of the table was an empty chair.
One that had remained untouched for years. A man stood near it, speaking firmly.
“We’ve confirmed it,” he said. “My son is still alive.”
Murmurs spread across the boardroom.
“Then what are we waiting for?” another voice asked.
The man’s expression hardened.
“We’re waiting… for him to come back.”
- Writer
