Chapter 7: The Day Everything Changed
The rain had been very heavy that day.
Caesar remembered standing by the window, watching droplets race down the glass. The sky was a dull gray, and thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.
His father had just come home from work, shaking off his umbrella before stepping inside. Even after a long day, he had the same warm smile—the kind that made everything feel safe.
"Caesar!" his father had called from the doorway, his voice full of energy. "Come help me with something."
He was only ten at the time. A child who didn't yet understand how fragile life was.
"Coming!" he had replied, hopping off the couch and running down the stairs.
His father stood in the living room, holding a thick envelope stuffed with papers.
"Look at this," he said, his eyes bright. "It's a business proposal. If this works out, our future is set."
Caesar had peered at the documents, not really understanding, but sensing the excitement in his father's voice.
"Does that mean we'll be rich?" he asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
His father had laughed, ruffling his hair. "Something like that. But more importantly, it means I can give you a better life."
Caesar had smiled, not realizing that would be one of their last conversations.
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The Last Goodbye
That evening, his father had to leave again.
"Just a quick meeting," he had assured Caesar's mother, kissing her on the forehead. "I'll be back soon."
His mother had frowned. "It's pouring outside. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
"I wish it could, but they need my signature tonight. Don't worry, I'll be careful."
Caesar had stood by the door, watching his father put on his coat. He didn't know why, but something about it made his stomach twist.
"Be careful," he blurted out. He wasn't sure why he said it. He never did before.
His father chuckled, stepping forward to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Always."
And then, he was gone.
The rain outside didn't let up. It only grew heavier, pounding against the windows, filling the house with a steady rhythm.
Caesar tried to distract himself. He turned on the TV, played a game, but something felt… off. The unease wouldn't go away.
Hours passed.
His mother paced near the phone, checking the time.
Then, it rang.
The moment she answered, everything changed.
Caesar watched as her face went from confusion to dread. Her grip on the phone tightened. Then her hands started shaking.
And when she dropped the phone—when she clamped a trembling hand over her mouth—he knew.
His father wasn't coming back.
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The Funeral
The funeral had been a blur.
People came, offering words of sympathy. Some cried. Others whispered about how tragic it was.
"A car crash," they murmured. "The roads were too wet. He never had a chance."
Caesar stood beside his mother, gripping the necklace his father had given him—the one with the blue pendant.
He didn't cry.
Not when they lowered the casket.
Not when people patted his shoulder, telling him to "stay strong."
Not until that night, when he was alone in his room, staring at the pendant in his palm.
That was when it finally hit him.
His father was gone. And no amount of wishing could bring him back.
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A Moment of Silence
Caesar finished his story, his voice quieter than before. His fingers absently brushed against the necklace he still wore beneath his shirt.
Beside him, Blythe sat on the park bench, uncharacteristically silent.
For once, she didn't have a teasing remark. No jokes. No forced optimism.
She just sat there. Listening.
Then, softly, she said, "I'm sorry."
Caesar exhaled, shaking his head. "It's fine. It's been years."
"That doesn't mean it hurts any less."
He didn't respond. He wasn't sure how to.
Blythe leaned back against the bench, staring up at the sky. "I lost someone too," she admitted.
Caesar turned his head slightly. "Who?"
She hesitated. Her expression shifted, just for a moment—something unreadable passing over her features.
Then, she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'll tell you another time."
Caesar didn't push.
They sat there in comfortable silence, the only sound being the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.
For the first time in years, talking about his father didn't feel as painful.
Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to heal.
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To Be Continued…
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