The chandelier's soft glow illuminated the expansive dining room, casting warm light over the long, polished mahogany table. Rodensky sat at the head of the table, his legs swinging back and forth as his father recounted a story from his youth. His sisters, Emily and Clara, giggled as their father mimicked the dramatic voice of one of his childhood friends.
"...And then I told him, 'You can't just swing a sword at a dragon without a plan!'" his father said, waving his fork in the air as if it were a mighty weapon.
"Did he listen, Dad?" Rodensky asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"Of course not," his father replied with a chuckle. "And that's why he got burned. Strategy, Rod. Always have a plan."
Rodensky grinned. His father's stories always ended with a lesson, but he didn't mind. They were a part of the life he loved—a life where his family was whole, where worries were as distant as the stars beyond the mansion's tall windows.
---
The study door was locked now. Rodensky stood outside it, his hand hovering over the brass handle. He hadn't been inside since the funeral, and he didn't think he could bear it now. The memories felt too raw, too heavy to carry.
Six months had passed since his father's death, but the pain hadn't dulled. If anything, it had grown sharper with each passing day. The mansion that once echoed with laughter now felt like a mausoleum.
His mother was trying her best, he knew that. But her best wasn't enough. She spent most days behind closed doors, poring over bills and making calls that always ended with a weary sigh. His sisters seemed to have moved on—or at least pretended to. Clara's laughter still filled the halls, and Emily spoke excitedly about school projects and friends.
But Rodensky couldn't pretend.
---
"Rod, we need to talk," his mother said one evening as they sat in the living room. She was holding a stack of papers, her hands trembling slightly.
"What is it?" he asked, though he already had an idea.
She hesitated, glancing at his sisters, who were playing on the carpet nearby. "We can't stay here anymore."
Rodensky froze. "What do you mean?"
"We're moving," she said, her voice firm but tinged with regret. "We can't afford the mansion without your father's income. I've found a place in another country—more affordable. It's what we need to do."
"No," he said, his voice rising. "This is our home. Dad built this life for us. We can't just leave."
"Rod, I'm trying to keep us together," she said, her tone hardening. "This isn't a choice. It's survival."
Her words cut through him like a blade. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
---
The plane ride was long and silent. Rodensky stared out the window, watching the clouds pass by as he tried to hold back tears. Emily and Clara were excited, chattering about what their new life would be like, but Rodensky couldn't share their enthusiasm.
The apartment was smaller than he'd imagined. His bedroom was barely big enough for his bed and a desk. The walls were bare, and the window overlooked a busy street filled with strangers.
He unpacked his suitcase in silence, placing his clothes in the tiny wardrobe and setting his gaming console on the desk. It was the only piece of home he had left.
---
Days turned into weeks, and Rodensky felt more out of place with each passing moment. School was a nightmare. The other students spoke a language he barely understood, and the teachers seemed more frustrated than willing to help.
At home, things weren't much better. His mother worked long hours, often coming home late and exhausted. Emily and Clara adjusted quickly, making new friends and exploring the neighborhood. Rodensky, on the other hand, retreated further into himself.
One evening, he sat alone in the living room, flipping through the channels on the tiny TV. His mother walked in and sat beside him, her expression soft but tired.
"Rod, I know this is hard," she said. "But we have to make this work. For all of us."
He didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the screen.
"Talk to me, please," she said, her voice breaking.
"What's there to say?" he muttered. "You made the decision. We're here now."
She sighed and stood up, leaving him alone with the TV.