Ethan pinched his nose and took a step back, his face full of disgust. “Ugh, really?” he sneered. “Grandpa, you’re so weak that one slap from Dad made you wet yourself? How pathetic. You really are finished.”
His laughter rang loudly through the room, sharp and cruel. The sound made Harold’s chest tighten with deep shame. His shaking hand gripped the armrest of the wheelchair as he tried to speak. “I… I—” But no words came out. His throat felt tight and dry.
The air around him felt heavy and suffocating. His face burned red from the unbearable humiliation of being treated like nothing by his own family.
Gerald straightened his sleeves, his expression cold and distant. “Someone,” he said sharply, “take this useless old man away from here. Don’t let him sit here making the air smell bad.”
