Lucian stood in the kitchen, nursing his coffee in silence. He kept his distance from the living room where his mother sat, lost in her own world. It had always been like this a strange routine of being physically close, yet emotionally miles apart. Sitting with his mother and sister at the same table had never been comfortable. Conversations never started with him. They would talk to each other, about business or trivial things, but never to him. So, over time, Lucian had developed a habit of drinking his coffee standing in the kitchen, watching them from a distance.
He could easily have coffee in his room or even leave the house entirely, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that craved these moments, no matter how distant or hollow they were. Love, no matter how rejected or unreciprocated, was hard to kill. It was foolish, nonsensical, but it was there.
As Lucian drank his coffee, he occasionally glanced at his mother, Olivia, who was sitting on the couch surrounded by papers. Her hands trembled as she read through the documents, and Lucian noticed her eyes growing moist. He furrowed his brow in concern, watching her from afar. A part of him wanted to go over, to ask what was wrong, but experience had taught him better. In the past, whenever he had tried to show concern or reach out, he was met with indifference. "Don't meddle in my business," was a common response. So now, he stayed back, telling himself it was better not to get involved. But he still watched her, secretly, like he always did.
It didn't matter how much he had been hurt or ignored; love, in its most painful form, persisted. Even when it wasn't reciprocated. And Lucian knew this well. He didn't want to care anymore, but he did, and that was the worst part of it all.
Olivia, on the other hand, was trying to pull herself together. She wiped her eyes quickly, not wanting Lucian to see her tears. She hastily gathered the papers, slipping them back into the black bag. These documents were a painful reminder of her failures, and she couldn't bear the thought of Lucian discovering them. The documents contained everything she should have known as a mother but didn't. She had called in every favor she had, using her power and influence to gather every scrap of information about Lucian his likes, dislikes, hobbies, medical history, and even details of his school life. She needed to know, she had to know, everything she had missed or ignored in his life.
Reading through those reports the night before had been like a knife to her heart. She had been a loving mother once, when Lucian was small, when he was still her bright-eyed boy who clung to her with love and admiration. But something had changed after he turned ten. According to the reports, her relationship with him had started to deteriorate when he was around eleven, becoming progressively worse with each passing year. She didn't understand why. She couldn't remember why. But the documents made it painfully clear that she had distanced herself from him, grown stricter, colder, even crueler.
The worst part was the birthdays. She hadn't attended Lucian's birthdays for the past five years—not once. She hadn't even wished him a happy birthday, let alone given him a gift. Olivia couldn't breathe when she read the report about the birthday party Lucian had tried to organize three years ago, where he had personally invited her. He had begged her to come, but she had declined because of some "important meeting." The memory came back to her, hazy and distorted, but real. She had been too busy to spare even a few hours for her son's special day.
She remembered how coldly she had rejected him.
Then there was the issue of pocket money. The report stated that she hadn't given Lucian any money since he was thirteen. She had no recollection of this. Had she really forgotten? How had Lucian managed all these years? Had he been living independently this whole time? She didn't know. She didn't know anything.
As she read the reports, she cried. She cried for the son she had failed, for the love she had taken for granted, and for the mother she should have been but wasn't. The realization of just how much she had damaged Lucian weighed on her like a crushing boulder. She wasn't a mother. She was a stranger.
No, she was worse than a stranger. She was the reason for his pain.
Olivia had spent the entire night reading those reports, crying over them until the pages were soaked with her tears. Her guilt was overwhelming, suffocating. She wanted to disappear, to end it all, because what kind of mother was she? How had she allowed this to happen? How had she become so blind to her own son's suffering?
Lucian stood in the kitchen, watching her silently. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He had promised himself that he would never care again, that he would sever all ties with his family. But as he watched his mother cry, that familiar ache returned. He didn't want to care, but he did.
"Lucian…" Olivia's trembling voice broke the silence, snapping him out of his thoughts. She had finally worked up the courage to speak, her voice barely audible as she called out to him from across the room.
Lucian froze, his body tense as he processed the sound of her voice. How long had it been since she had spoken to him like that? Gentle, almost… caring? It felt foreign, uncomfortable, but something in him stirred. He slowly turned his head to look at her through the window separating the kitchen from the living room.
Their eyes met.
Olivia's gaze was filled with vulnerability, her swollen eyes pleading with him. She looked like a woman who had been broken, a woman who had realized too late the gravity of her mistakes.
"Why are you standing there? Come here… please," Olivia said, her voice trembling.
Lucian's heart raced, his mind spinning. Why was she calling him over? Why now, and what with those eyes? A thousand thoughts crossed his mind, and not one of them was good. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was some kind of trick, some kind of manipulation. Maybe she wanted him out of the house, or maybe she needed him for some business matter. There had to be a reason there was always a reason. She never reached out unless she needed something.
Should he go? Should he just walk away? Lucian clenched his jaw, trying to make sense of the situation. But despite everything, despite the years of neglect and hurt, a small part of him wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was sincere.
His feet felt like they were glued to the floor, his body torn between going to her and staying where he was. He had already made a decision he was done with them. He was done with trying. But looking at his mother's sad face, that resolve faltered.
It was pathetic, really. After all the rejection, all the pain, here he was, still hoping for something that would never come. He hated himself for it.
Olivia, on the other hand, was barely holding herself together. She saw the hesitation in Lucian's eyes, the distrust, the distance that she had created. It broke her heart. She had done this. She had pushed him away, and now he was looking at her like a stranger.
Her hands gripped the documents in her lap, her knuckles white from the pressure. She had never felt so lost, so hopeless. How could she ever make up for what she had done? How could she ever expect Lucian to forgive her?
"I… I want to talk to you, Lucian. Please," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Lucian's breath hitched. Talk? About what? His mind raced as he tried to anticipate what she wanted. He didn't trust it. He couldn't. Not after everything.
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surprise surprise my lovely reader haha
look second chapter in one day
actually i thought tommorow i might miss so why not just do it now
well there you go there might be updated tomorrow idk i am not clear but there are chances
anyways if i missed it think of it as advance payment
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LazyDiablo