Chapter 1
OSTIAN’S POV
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The windshield was streaked with the remnants of rain, blurring the streetlights into soft, unfocused halos. Everything ahead of me was a dark, shapeless stretch. And I didn’t just mean the road, I meant life. It all felt foggy, directionless, like I was staring into a future I couldn’t make out, no matter how hard I tried.
My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, as I remained parked at a deserted road. I had just gotten off the phone with my daughter, Niraya, the only source of stability in my life. I’d explained the sudden change happening at work. In two weeks, I’ll be leaving Ohio for California.
As expected, she was thrilled.
The move meant we could finally live in the same suburb, and since she studied in California, it also meant we’d get to spend more time together.
"You deserve it,” she said. “A break from whatever Philip has been putting you through.”
And God, don’t I know it. But why do I feel so unsettled? Like there was some kind of trouble lingering in the air, just waiting.
Just then, my eyes caught a lone raindrop sliding down the windshield. I reached for the wiper switch and flipped it. A drawn-out squeak cut through the night. If only it were that easy to wipe away the chaos in my life.
I turned the key in the ignition, and pulled into the road.
Being a single father of two hadn’t been easy, especially with one in college and the other in high school. My job had been the lifeline to giving them everything I never had. So when my boss said we were moving to California, I didn’t hesitate, even though I knew that meant leaving everything behind.
I’d been Mrs. North’s chauffeur for twenty years, that’s half my life. And truly, she had been a steady presence, and incredibly generous, especially after my wife passed nine years ago. Not many chauffeurs earn five figures a month in Ohio. So yeah, thanks to her, Niraya’s future looked bright, and she was grateful. Philip, not so much.
Which brought me to the hard part: How do I tell him I’m moving to California and that he has to move too but not with me?
I had played out scenarios in my head, and in every version, none ended well. This had been my reality for the last four years, me trying to navigate every conversation with Philip as if it were a minefield, hoping to find a path that would leave us both unscathed.
Arriving home, I pulled into the driveway. Something felt off.
I heard thudding bass and strange, chaotic noises spilling from the house, they were muffled but unmistakable. I stepped out of the car, and the sound grew louder. My pace quickened toward the front door until the noise became a full-on roar. The moment I pushed it open, the sound hit me like a wave.
Heat. Smoke. Music blasting so loud it rattled in my chest. A thick haze of fog and cigarette smoke hung in the air, twisting through strobe lights and shadows. The floor was a mess of liquor bottles, red plastic cups, and God-knows-what else. And in the middle of it all were young girls, barely clothed, dancing wildly in the chaos.
“What in the world was happening?” I muttered, pushing through the crowd. There, I spotted Philip with some other boys at the far end of the room, slouched in a corner with cigarettes dangling from their lips. In front of them knelt a younger boy, blood dripping from his hand.
My eyes trailed across the floor.
Why was there so much blood?
Wait... was that a...
I froze.
“Philip!” I screamed, panic flooded through me. He didn’t react, rather he looked at me with an utterly bored expression, like I was nothing more than an irritating interruption.
I rushed over to the boy. “Oh my God.” I cried out, droping next to him. His thumb was severed, completely gone.
“Who did this? Someone call 911!”
I screamed again, but my voice was drowned out by the music blaring from the speakers. No one seemed to hear me. Or more like they heard but partied on regardless.
I tore off a piece of my shirt and wrapped it tightly around his mangled hand, trying to stop the bleeding. He was shaking violently yet murmuring that it wasn’t a big deal, that I was making it worse for him. Making what worse? I didn’t understand. It was obvious he needed help, so I ignored his words and kept applying pressure.
“Who did this?” I asked again.
I looked up at Philip. He looked detached. Of course he did this. I wasn’t fooling anyone. I wasn’t ignorant of his despicable acts, but I had no idea it had escalated this far. We were severing thumbs now?
His usual bored expression showed no trace of remorse.
I ignored him, fumbling for my phone, trying to get help as quickly as I could.
“Drop the fucking phone, Ostian," Philip growled.
I flinched, nearly dropping the phone in surprise.
“He’s going to bleed out!”
“He looks fine to me,” he muttered, glancing over at the boy with complete indifference.
“Do you need 911?” he asked him.
The boy whispered a shaky “No.” “I’m fine, Mr. Ortiz... I... I don’t need 911...” he trembled.
Philip leaned back, clearly unfazed.
“You see? He’s fine.”
“What’s wrong with you!” I snapped, standing up to him.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he barked, rising to his feet with the same intensity, his fury far surpassing mine. Without warning, he closed the gap between us like we were squaring off in a boxing ring. His breath hot on my face, his chest nearly pressed against mine. The sheer intensity of his rage made my shoulders lock up defensively.
Then, slowly and deliberately, he repeated the words, each one laden with venom.
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Ostian.”
Everything went quiet. The music had stopped. I hadn’t even noticed until now. The silence was so complete, you could hear a pin drop.
His imposing presence continued to loom over me. Yes, that. I even my breath, trying to mask my unease.
Philip stood well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and solid, those were traits I could never have passed on. At five-seven, I felt the height difference acutely. And in moments like this, I was painfully reminded of my place in his life.
But he was still my son.
I slowly took a step back. Just like I always did right before things got bad.
I glanced around at the mess in my living room, a complete disaster. He wasn’t even a young adult yet, still three months away from eighteen. Being close to him now, I finally registered the smell. This wasn’t cigarettes, it was weed. How had he managed to get his hands on those?
I cleared my throat, trying to regain control of the situation.
“Party is over. Everyone out,” I announced, but no one moved. “Or I’ll call the cops.”
At that, they all scrambled, scattering toward the exits. Philip tsked his tongue, pulling my attention back to him.
“Bring him to my room,” he said.
His friends Joe and Aiden I believe, began lifting the injured boy.
“Whoa, whoa. Hold on.” I stopped them.
“He needs a hospital. He doesn’t go into your room. He gets help.”
“Don’t push it,” he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
I glanced down at the boy, whose eyes were brimming with tears. For a moment, I was transfixed by his expression, the terror, the resignation. When Philip noticed that, he tilted his head down, attempting to reestablish eye contact with me. Our gazes locked again, and I was struck by the absolute coldness in his eyes. There was nothing there, no humanity, no warmth, nothing at all.
“He. stays. With. me,” he enunciated.
I knew in that moment it was his final warning, and not to push any further.
“It’s Dad! I’m your father! Not Ostian, not just anyone to you!” I exploded.
Yes, I’d lost, but I didn’t want to just walk away. This should be the moment I call the cops, firmly stand my ground against him, but I couldn’t. The last time I’d threatened that, he had made Niraya pay. It was so bad she had to be homeschooled.
“You’ll pay,” he’d told me that evening, and he wasn’t joking. The next day, he planted a firearm in Niraya’s backpack before school, and she ended up getting expelled. The incident caused a massive uproar in our little neighborhood, and it would forever remain a stain on Niraya’s record.
This was now something I swore I’d never let her go through again not if I could help it. She didn’t deserve that. No one deserved what Philip had become.
There was one incident where he had beaten a classmate so badly, the kid was in a coma for two months. When the boy finally woke and was asked what happened, he said he’d fallen down the school stairs. The other parents knew the truth, their kids whispered it but no one would testify. They were too afraid of what Philip might do next.
And that made me wonder how much worse he’d gotten. Had he killed? I wouldn’t put it past him at this point. How a seventeen-year-old boy was capable of some of the most despicable things I’d ever witnessed in my years of living was a question I would never be able to answer. I could only hope he hadn’t crossed that line yet.
He blew a puff of weed in my face, snapping me back to reality.
I looked down at the boy’s severed thumb. “You need to pick that up if you at least still intend on keeping it.” With that I turned and made my way out of the house, making sure I didn’t trip on the bottles scattered across the floor. However this turned out, I didn’t want any part in it.
He would be an adult soon, so if he committed a crime, sure he could do the time.
I drove to a nearby motel and checked in for the night. Then I remembered I hadn’t told him about the move. That would have to wait until morning.
_____
NEXT MORNING
Both Philip’s ticket and mine had already been booked. I was scheduled to fly with Mrs. North the next day, a sudden and unexpected change. What had been planned as two weeks had collapsed into one day. Her manager told me I had only today to put my affairs in order.
My plan was simple now: deliver the news as soon as I could, pack my bags, and leave.
A few months ago, I had been torn over whether to put my house up for sale or not. After much debate, I’d consulted with Niraya, and together we concluded it was the right move. Ohio held nothing but bad memories, and Niraya had vowed never to return or build a life here.
I had originally planned to move into a smaller apartment with Philip, but I guess the universe had other plans.
Not long after an offer for the house came and everything seemed to align. Then my job offer followed. It felt like everything was pulling me further away from here, from Philip. That thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
In the past couple of years living with my son, I’ve been pushed down the stairs during a heated argument about his behavior. That early incident had left me with a broken ankle. On another occasion, my own son had punched me in the face. At this point, I’m beyond recounting every instance and mentally, I’m utterly drained. How do you even begin to explain that your son has raised their hands on you?
This is just how conversations with Philip go. I had honestly hoped for change. I’ve been patient, kind, even tried setting up father son outings, but I’ve come to realize that the relationship we once had is gone. The one where he called me “Dad” at age six, where he’d eagerly anticipate a new PlayStation every Christmas, and where we’d play basketball together in the courtyard were all gone
I think I’ll be dead before Philip ever chooses to be that person again. I have to live for Niraya now. She doesn’t deserve to lose a third parent.
I checked out of the motel and drove home. Upon arrival, something felt off. Unlike yesterday, the house was eerily quiet. I stepped through the door, genuinely surprised by the sight that greeted me.
Everywhere was spotless, as if the chaos from the night before had never occurred. How had he managed to clean up so fast? The air smelled so fresh too, and for a moment, I was almost tempted to take everything back.
Then he appeared from behind the stairs, carrying a sack of empty bottles.
“Hi,” he muttered.
Completely caught off. I didn’t understand what was going on.
“I cleaned up the house... if that makes you feel better.”
I nodded, feeling strange.
Philip hadn’t initiated a conversation with me in two years. Not when he pushed me down the stairs, and certainly not when he punched me. He was never one to apologize. So, was this his way of doing so? Based on what happened lastnight?
I stared at him for a bit. He was his usual self. Cold, and distant. So, what changed?
“We need to talk,” I informed him, heading toward my room.
“Yeah, I know,” he replied swiftly.
I stopped and glanced back. What was happening today? I turned my way, choosing not to dwell on his odd acts. I grabbed my suitcases, filled it with my belongings, gathered some important documents and photos of the memories we’d shared. Once everything was ready, I headed back out. On my way, I knocked on his door. Our usual signal to meet for a talk. It had become some kind of ritual.
After twenty minutes of sitting on the couch waiting, he finally emerged from his room. His eyes flickered briefly towards my luggage then he slowly lowered himself onto the cushion across from me.
“I...”
“I...”
We both spoke at the same time. “Go ahead,” I prompted.
He continued, “The boy’s not dead. You looked like you were going to fucking pass out yesterday, so I’m telling you, he’s good. He’s patched up”
“Oh...good to know,” I muttered.
“So, Nothing happened here yesterday, just so you keep your story straight”
Ah, there goes the Philip I know.
“That’s it?” I asked
“Uhm uhm” was all I got from him.
“My turn,” I sat up straighter. “My job’s moving me to California.”
He narrowed his eyes. ”My job is moving me to California" he mocked in my voice. “What do you mean?”
I made myself more comfortable, ensuring I sounded steady and confident this time.
“I’m selling the house, and I’m moving to California. First flight out tomorrow.”
He immediately sat up. Looking at me like I’d just spoken in a foreign language.
“What is this? A joke?”
Here we go, I thought.
“It’s not a joke,” I replied with more conviction. “You see my luggage packed, don’t you? I’m forty five years of age. Do I look to you like someone who jokes around?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Where is this coming from?”
I remained quiet, holding his stare. He looked intense, always did but this time I wasn’t going to let up.
Slowly, realization dawned on him. “You’re not joking.” he finally said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Selling the house, moving to California, none of it?”
“None of it,” I answered honestly.
He paused briefly, “Every memory I have of my mom is here. You can’t just take that away.” An edge crept into his voice, a very dangerous one. I knew I had to tread carefully, but I also needed to be honest.
“Maybe there’s something left here for you, but not for me. You’ve tainted every good memory we’ve ever had as a family.”
His posture shifted slightly, growing rigid. “Ostian, you’re not selling this house, and I’m not leaving with you” he clarified.
I took a deep breath, knowing this was going to be hard.
“If you refuse, you’ll be removed for trespassing. And you’re right, you’re not coming with me.” I made sure he caught that last Part.”
His face contorted into somewhat of a confusion. “Wha......what do you mean I’m not coming with you?
“It means exactly what It sounds like”
“Ha.Ha funny. You are selling the house so I am asking where do I go Ostian? Incase you missed that part. What about me?”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’m seventeen! I don’t have a job! You couldn’t wait three more months before cutting me off? What the fuck is wrong with you? And yeah, I don’t like you either, but believe it or not, by law, you’re still my father! You still have an obligation to me until I’m an adult unless you want to end up in court, and I can make that happen!”
I dropped a one-way ticket on the table.
“What’s this?” His eyes narrowed as he glared at me.
“It’s your one-way ticket to Boston. You’ll stay with Mr. Riff, Mrs. North’s son. He’s offering you a place and.....”
“Wait, wait, wait hold on”
I ignored him
“He’s offering you a place to stay Philip. Mrs. North went through a great lot to make that happen. In two months and half you’ll be eighteen, and after which you can go sort yourself....”
“What the hell are you talking about?” His eyes flicked furiously between the ticket and me.
“Who the fuck is Riff!?”
“Philip” I called.
“Are you seriously shipping me off to Boston while you run off to California with Niraya?”
“You need to calm down”
He shook his head, “No, no, no”
Then abruptly he stood and began pacing back and forth. It was the first time I’d seen him show any real emotion in years. You never knew what would happen next with Philip. Watching him was like sitting quietly in a storm, waiting for it to break.
“Humor me........” he began “because this right here,” he made a small circle gesture with his hands, “is stupid.”
“How long have you been planning This?” His voice rose “HOW LONG? SELLING THE ONLY PLACE WHERE MY MOTHER AND I SPENT OUR MOST MEANINGFUL TIME TOGETHER AND NOW THAT SHE’S GONE, SHIPPING HER SON OFF TO GOD KNOWS WHERE, ALL SO YOU CAN LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER WITH ALL THE MONEY YOU MADE WITH YOUR LITTLE SHIT OF A DAUGHTER? HOW LONG, OSTIAN!?”
“Don’t disrespect her!”
“Or WHAT huh? What are you gonna do, Ostian? What are you gonna do? Oh I could show you what I’d do”
His movements were swift. In a motion he grabbed a chair and hurled it at the window, the glass shattered on impact. Then he seized a vase and smashed it on the floor. Lamps toppled as he began tearing through the apartment, destroying everything in sight. The room descended into chaos.
I quickly snatched my phone from the table, fumbling to dial the cops, but before I could press send, he was on me. He yanked the phone from my hand and smashed it against the floor, then stomped hard on it, until it was reduced to shards.
“Who’s going to stop me?” He sneered.
“The cops? You sure about that? Running off to our sweet, innocent Niraya, aren’t we?..... Huh! .... Niraya’s going to be a doctor!! why not leave the ‘deadbeat’ stepson behind, right?”
I stayed silent.
“You know what, let’s take it a step higher. How about we just burn this place to the ground” he threatened.
For a moment, I believed he could do it. He was that crazy. “You sure you want to do that?” I answered quickly. “This isn’t my property anymore, Philip. The new owners won’t be so lenient. And this time, you won’t be dealing with me.”
That seemed to tone him down a notch. He inhaled steadily.
“I’m not going anywhere, you can run off with your tail between your legs, lying about your work taking you to California, but I’m staying in Ohio.”
“Then I’ll have no choice but to involve child services,” I warned “Trust me, you don’t want to spend your last two months before adulthood in the system. My way is better.”
He glared at me. “Three months..... It’s Three months”
I didn’t care. I grabbed my bags and started heading for the door.
“Fuck you, Ostian!” he yelled after me.
As I reached for the exit, a weight settled over me, a mixture of guilt, failure, and regret.
I am so sorry, Rachel. I couldn’t see this through to the end.
Without looking back, I walked out.
_____
