Chapter 5
When I got home, the living room was packed with relatives.
They’d already set up a funeral altar. Mom’s black and white portrait sat in the center, surrounded by white mourning banners hanging from the
walls.
Funeral home staff were waiting outside, smoking cigarettes.
My heart plummeted as I charged into the house like a woman possessed.
Seeing me return, Uncle Marcus immediately grabbed me and forced me to kneel in front of the altar.
He slapped me hard across the face, his eyes red as he yelled: “So you finally decided to show up, you heartless brat. Your mom was calling for you when she died.”
“You… didn’t even call her once in two years.”
Before he could finish, he broke down sobbing.
Several aunts took turns trying to comfort him, but ended up crying themselves.
I knelt before the altar, desperately kowtowing to Mom.
Amid all the wailing, a snide voice drifted from the couch.
“Oh look, she took all the family money and went off living it up somewhere.”
“They say you raise kids to take care of you when you’re old, but turns out she raised an ungrateful little snake.”
That nasty voice-I’d never forget it as long as I lived.
Years ago, when Mom took me to Dad’s hometown for Christmas, I’d gotten scolded for an entire hour just for taking a chicken leg at dinner.
Mom had flipped the table and brought me straight home.
We never went back to Dad’s hometown after that.
Never saw that old witch I was supposed to call “Grandma” again either.
Now, with Mom’s suspicious death, she was back to stir up trouble.
The second she finished talking, Aunt Cheryl lunged at her, yanking her hair and slapping her face.
‘You old hag, my sister died because of your harassment, and you still have the nerve to show up here?”
‘She bought her own life insurance, and you people still want the payout? Have some shame!”
Grandma dodged while screaming back at Aunt Cheryl.
“What life insurance money? That’s all my son’s money.”
“She got sick and died on her own-all remaining assets go to my son. None of your damn business.”
Aunt Cheryl was a fighter. Grandma couldn’t keep up, and her mouth was already swelling from the hits.
Uncle and aunts from Dad’s side rushed over to break it up unfairly, while my other aunts jumped into the fray.
The funeral parlor turned into complete chaos.
I just knelt in front of Mom’s altar, crying until my heart felt like it would tear apart.
The crying, cursing, and chaos quickly drew the neighbors’ attention.
Afore people meant even more chaos.
Looking around the messy funeral parlor, I finally spotted Dad by the master bedroom door.
Mom was already dressed in her burial clothes, lying on the bed in the master bedroom.
Dad’s face showed no trace of grief-he was bent over comforting a crying little boy beside him.
The boy looked about four or five years old and resembled Dad quite a bit.
Behind him stood a woman dressed very elegantly, impatiently lecturing Dad.
“Isn’t the house supposed to be yours? Didn’t your wife transfer it to you before she died?”
“Derek, Bobby’s starting elementary school soon. Are you going to handle this or not?”
Seeing this mother and son, I finally understood what everyone in the living room had been fighting about.
Dad’s mistress had given him a son, and he’d been racking his brains to funnel our family’s money to them.
All that money he’d supposedly sent back to his hometown was just shuffling funds around-it all went to this mother and son.
Now that Mom was gone, they were making their move on the house.
Dad whispered reassurances to the woman: “I just can’t find the deed yet. Once I do, we’ll get it transferred over.”
‘She’s dead, so the house should rightfully pass to me.”
‘Don’t worry, Bobby’s schooling won’t be delayed.”
Uncle Marcus noticed the situation and flew into a rage, rushing over to kick Dad: “The house was my sister’s premarital property-it can only go to
Delia.”
If you dare give it to this homewrecker, I’ll hang myself right here.”
Dad stopped pretending then, shielding his mistress and illegitimate son behind him, sneering: “I’m the heir to her estate. That house is mine, and I
an give it to whoever I want.”
Y’all better cut the crap. Watch out-if you don’t, I’ll dump her ashes in the toilet and flush’em. None of you’ll even have a place to mourn her!”
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.