OSTIAN'S POV
The day was bright, and as the sun set, its warm, golden light poured into my hotel room. Waking up, I felt the soft rays gently touch my face, filling the room with a peaceful glow as the sky lit up in shades of orange and pink. Something about today felt different. I couldn't quite pinpoint it, but it filled me with hope mainly the hope of reuniting with my daughter soon. A sense of peace flushed my soul and body, something I hadn't experienced in a long time.
Mrs. North had given me a day to sort out my affairs, as I was scheduled to fly out with her the next morning. My ticket was already booked, and I had Philip's ticket as well. I woke up that day with a clear determination to settle everything, no matter how things turned out. My only goal was to get to my house, pack my bags, and be ready.
A few months ago, I debated whether or not to put my house up for sale. Eventually, I made the decision to do so after consulting with Niraya, and we both agreed it was the right move. Ohio held nothing but bad memories, and Niraya had vowed never to return or build a life here. We found a buyer last week, and as if things weren't already shifting, everything aligned. my job was taking me closer to her and further away from here, from Philip. That thought left a bitter taste in my mouth, but it felt like God was nudging me, setting me free, even if I didn't want to be. It was almost as if Rachel, too, wanted me to leave. As if they were all pushing me toward happiness. The sale was finalized two days ago. I'd originally planned to find a small apartment and live with Philip, but I guess the universe had other plans. That home held nothing but bad memories to me, and Philip played his part.
In the past two years of living alone with Philip, I've been pushed down the stairs during a heated argument about his behavior. That early incident 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. Mentally, I'm utterly drained. How do you even begin to explain that your son has raised his hands against 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 7, where he'd begged for a new PlayStation every Christmas, and where we played basketball together in the courtyard. Those days are over. 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. So I fought to live.
I checked out of the motel and drove home. Unlike yesterday, the atmosphere felt different. It was quiet. As I approached the doorstep and opened the door, I was genuinely surprised by what greeted me. The place was spotless, like the chaos from the day before had never happened. How did he manage to clean it up so quickly? The air was fresh, and for a moment, I was almost tempted not to leave Ohio.
Philip appeared from behind the stairs, carrying empty bottles in his hands. "Hi," he muttered. "I cleaned up the house... if that makes you feel better."
I nodded, completely caught off guard. 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 had never once apologized. Was this his way of doing that? Based on what happened yesterday? I had no idea. I stared into his eyes—still cold, still distant. What had changed?
"We need to talk," I said, heading toward my room.
"Yeah, I know," he replied.
I stopped and glanced back. What was happening today? I couldn't afford to be distracted. I had to focus on Niraya. With that, I headed upstairs, still unsure of what to make of the moment. I made my way to my room, packed my suitcases, and gathered important documents and photos of the memories we'd shared. Once everything was ready, I headed back downstairs. On my way, I knocked on Philip's door our usual signal to meet in the living room for a talk. It had become a kind of ritual for us.
After about 20 minutes of waiting, he finally emerged from his room. His gaze briefly lingered on my luggage before he slowly took a seat on the cushion across from me.
"I…" We both started to speak at the same time. "Go ahead," I said.
With a cold expression, 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"
"Good to know," I replied.
He continued, "So, nothing happened here yesterday. The house is spotless, so keep your story straight"
Ah, there was the Philip I knew.
I nodded. "My turn," I said, sitting up straighter. "My job's moving me to California."
He narrowed his eyes. "My job is moving me to California What do you mean by that? " he asked, mimicking my words.
I made myself more comfortable, ensuring my voice was steady and confident. "I'm selling the apartment, and I'm moving to California. First flight out tomorrow morning."
After a tense pause, his eyes remained cold and unreadable. "What kind of joke is this?" he asked
"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 45 years old. Do I seem like someone who jokes around?"
His gaze darkened, his voice dropping lower. "I don't know. You tell me. Where is this coming from?"
I stayed quiet, locking eyes with him. His gaze was intense, but I didn't look away. 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?" he questioned, his voice uncertain.
"Not the part about selling the house, or moving to California, none of it is a joke," I replied, holding his stare, letting him see how serious I was. After a moment, he let out a sharp breath, sitting up straighter.
His face remained blank, but there was an edge in his voice as he spoke, his tone colder than before. "Every memory I have of Mom is here. You can't just take that away," his voice was steady, but the shift in his posture felt more dangerous.
I knew I had to tread carefully, but I needed to be honest. "Maybe there's something left here for you, but not for me. You've tainted every good memory we had as a family."
"I'm not doing this with you today. You're not selling this house! And I'm not leaving with you!"His voice turned stubborn.
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."
His face twisted with disbelief. "What do you mean I'm not coming with you? Where do I go? What about me?" His voice was steady, no trace of anger, just a quiet demand for answers laced with confusion.
I felt a pang of guilt seeing his frustration, but I stayed firm. "What about you?" I asked.
His tone grew desperate. "I'm still 17! You could've waited 2 more months before cutting me off. Like it or not, by law, you're still my father. You still have an obligation to me unless you want to end up in court case. I can arrange that."
I dropped a one-way ticket on the table. "What's this?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"It's your one-way ticket to Boston. You'll stay with Mr. Riff, Mrs. North's son. He's offering you a place to stay. Mrs. North went through a great lot to make that happen. In two months, you'll be 18, and you can go sort yourself out...."
He stared at the ticket, then back at me, furious. "What the actual hell are you talking about, Ostian? Who the fuck is Riff?" He cut me off before I could explain. "Are you seriously shipping me off to Boston while you run off to California with Niraya, your real kid, to live happily ever after?"
He slowly stood up, pacing back and forth for a moment, shaking his head. This was the first time in a year I'd seen him go through so many expression in one-day. He had learned so well to hide his emotions, and I still didn't know how or where he'd picked that up. You could never tell what would happen next with Philip. it was like watching a storm waiting to break. Philip was cold, way too cold for a 17-year-old. He didn't act his age, and sometimes I'd forget because he carried himself like a grown man. Seeing even a flicker of emotion today caught me off guard. Humor? It was unbelievable
"How long have you been planning this?" he asked, his voice low and controlled. "Selling the only memory of where my mother spent most of her life and shipping her son off to God knows where, just so you can live happily ever after with all the money you made with Niraya?" how long?
"Don't disrespect her!" I snapped.
"Or what?" he replied calmly. "What are you going to do, Ostian? You've already done your worst." His gaze locked onto mine, cold and unwavering. "So why don't we just ruin everything while we're at it?"
Philip's movements were swift and without warning. He grabbed a chair and hurled it at the window, the glass shattering on impact. In a flash, he began tearing through the apartment, throwing vases, knocking over lamps. The room descended into chaos as he destroyed everything in sight with cold, methodical precision. His face was expressionless, but the destruction he left in his wake was anything but.
I quickly snatched my phone from the table, my fingers 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, reducing it to shards.
Philip's sneer deepened as he took a step toward me. "Who's going to stop me, huh? The cops? You sure about that?" he spat. "Running off to our sweet, innocent Niraya, aren't we?"
His voice was laced with mockery.
"Niraya's going to be a doctor, why not leave the 'deadbeat' stepson behind, right?" he mocked
I stayed silent, letting the chaos around us speak louder than words. He looked at me, eyes still devoid of any real emotion, but his words were biting. "I'll burn this house to the ground," he finally threatened, and for a moment, I believed he might actually do it.
"You sure you want to do that?" I replied quickly, my voice calm but firm. "This isn't even my property anymore, Philip. The new owners won't be so lenient. And this time, it's not me you'll be dealing with."
That seemed to catch him off guard. He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto mine. "I'm not going anywhere," he said flatly. "You can run off with your tail between your legs, lying about your work taking you to California, but I'm staying in Ohio."
I held his gaze, knowing I had to be firm. "If you continue to prove difficult, I have no choice but to involve child services," I warned, keeping my voice steady. "Trust me, you don't want to spend your last two months before adulthood in the system. My way is the best option."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, I grabbed my bags and started heading for the door. His voice cut through the quiet like a knife.
"Fuck you, Ostian!" he yelled after me.
As I reached the door, a weight settled over me, a mixture of guilt, failure, and regret. "I am so sorry, Rachel," I whispered to myself. "I couldn't see this through to the end."
Without looking back, I walked out, the sound of the shattered window and broken furniture fading behind me.