When the Wealthy Widower Strikes Back

The Quarrel

Elina’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade, sharp and merciless.

“Why are you asking him that, Thalia? We should trust what the police said! Besides, we can’t even be sure he was fully conscious when it all happened.”

“Mom!” Thalia’s cry was half outrage, half despair. Her voice trembled, caught between grief and defiance, as though she was fighting two battles at once—one against her mother’s cold logic, and another against the unbearable weight of loss.

Ben stepped in quickly, desperate to stop the clash before it grew into something uglier. His words tumbled out, rushed, almost frantic. “It’s alright, Thalia. She’s right.” He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his voice uneven. “That day… my mind was clouded. I couldn’t sleep. I… I’m sorry.”

Thalia’s tears spilled again, hot and relentless, carving paths down her cheeks. Yet her gaze never wavered. She locked her eyes on him, demanding, unyielding. “You what? Finish your sentence, Ben!”

Ben shut his eyes tight, fists clenching at his sides. His knuckles whitened as his hands trembled. The sleeves of his worn shirt were rolled up, exposing faint scars where tattoos had once been erased—ghostly remnants of a past he had tried to bury. His hair had grown longer, brushing against the back of his neck, giving him a rugged, almost unkempt look. To an outsider, he might have resembled one of the street toughs who once respected him in his old neighborhood. But no one could mistake the emptiness in his eyes now—sharp, fox-like eyes that had once burned with fire, now hollow, lifeless, as he finally met Thalia’s stare.

“I only took sleeping pills. Nothing more,” he said at last, his voice low, steady, but heavy with shame.

“Are you sure?” Thalia’s tone was sharp, cutting, filled with suspicion.

“People may not believe me, but you should know I wouldn’t lie about something like this. Yes, I took more than the recommended dose, but—”

“Ben!” Thalia closed the distance in a heartbeat. Her breath brushed against his face, hot and furious. Her hands shot up, gripping his collar with ferocious strength. “You never change! How could you neglect your responsibility as a father? I trusted you. I allowed Alisya to visit you regularly, even after all the pain you caused us. And this is what happens?”

Her voice was hoarse, raw, every word dripping with anguish. It was the kind of pain that could tear apart anyone listening, but nothing compared to the torment of a mother who had lost her child.

Ben didn’t move. He let her hit him, her fists pounding against his chest, his shoulders. He refused to raise his hands, refused to defend himself. He knew she needed this release, this outlet for her grief. He would absorb it all, silently, like a wall built to take the blows.

Inside, though, disappointment gnawed at him—disappointment in himself, and in Thalia’s refusal to believe him. Perhaps her love for him had long since died, but he had hoped she still remembered the days when their family was whole, when she praised him for being a devoted father to their only child.

He had never been careless with Alisya. Never. But this time, death had swung its scythe too swiftly, leaving him powerless.

“I told you, Ben! I always said I felt unsafe. I knew someone was watching us, watching our family. But you never listened! Or maybe… maybe you were involved in something dangerous, something illegal, and that’s why she died?” Thalia’s voice rose, trembling with fury. She shoved Garry’s hands away as he tried to pull her back. “It should have been you, Ben! You should have died that night, not Alisya!”

Ben’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding. Her words pierced him deeper than any blow. He had thought the same countless times—what if he had reached for her faster? What if he hadn’t taken those pills? What if he had stayed awake all night? Maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe Alisya would still be alive. Maybe she should never have come to his house at all.

Thalia’s rage eventually burned itself out. Her sobs softened, her fists fell limp. Garry stepped in, gently taking her hands, wrapping his arms around her. This time, she didn’t resist. She let him guide her away from the graveyard, leaving Ben behind, voiceless, unable to defend himself, unable even to say goodbye.

Perhaps this was the last time he would ever see her.

Ben sighed heavily, turning back toward Alisya’s grave. But Elina stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Even if we’re strangers now, I hope you reflect on all your mistakes,” she said coldly, her eyes scanning him from head to toe with disdain. “Thalia is happy with Garry. You should find your own happiness, away from us. But remember this—any woman foolish enough to marry you will likely suffer the same misery my daughter endured.”

She flicked her hand dismissively, as though brushing away polluted air.

Ben had always known Elina’s tongue was sharp, her heart unyielding. But today, her cruelty ignited something inside him. His patience, stretched thin, began to fray.

“I haven’t thought about marrying again since Thalia left,” he said honestly, still clinging to a shred of respect for the older woman.

Elina shrugged. “Good. At least you know your place.”

“My place?” Ben’s voice hardened, his tone edged with bitterness.

“That you’re unfit to be the head of a family. Mentally, financially—you’re lacking. Your looks are the only thing you have. But what use is a handsome man who has nothing?”

A sudden gust of wind tore through the cemetery, nearly snatching Elina’s hat from her head. She clutched it frantically, muttering curses. “What a miserable day! Why did I even bother coming here?” Without another word, she stormed off toward her husband, leaving Ben alone.

Despite her cruelty, Ben bowed respectfully to his former in-laws. Only when they were gone did he straighten, truly alone at last.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rose, its petals slightly bruised. Kneeling, he placed it gently on Alisya’s grave.

“Alisya Zalina, my child,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Forgive me. Even here, where you should rest in peace, I’ve brought nothing but conflict.” His teeth sank into his lower lip, awkwardly forcing words he rarely spoke aloud. He regretted his inability to express himself, his lifelong struggle to show his feelings.

“If there’s life after death, I won’t ask you to wait for me. Live your happiness, wherever you are. Don’t worry about me. Just… look after your mother sometimes. You know how restless she gets when you’re not near.”

Click.

Ben froze. The faint sound of a camera shutter reached his ears. At first, he thought he imagined it. But then it came again—soft, deliberate, closer.

His breath caught. Someone was taking pictures. Of him. Here, at his daughter’s grave.

He tried to ignore it, rising slowly, walking toward the road. But the sound followed, carried by the wind.

At the intersection, a convex mirror reflected the cemetery behind him. He pretended to check his appearance, but his eyes scanned the background. Nothing. Yet the shutter clicked again, unmistakable.

Anger flared. Who would dare play with a camera here, at a funeral?

Ben spun around, scanning the trees, the gravestones. His instincts guided him, his steps quickening. He searched every corner, every shadow, until he spotted movement—a figure crouched behind a large tree, knees tucked, almost invisible.

Without hesitation, Ben stormed forward, his hand clamping down on the stranger’s shoulder. His voice thundered, raw with fury.

“Who are you? What business do you have with me?”