Blood disaster

The Final Truth

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where neither choice seems right—where you're paralyzed by uncertainty, unable to choose a path? That was where I stood: confused, torn, and burdened by the weight of what I had to do.

Life, indeed, is not fair.

The time of my death felt near, as though the final bell was ringing—but no one was answering. Whether I answered or not, death no longer frightened me. It was, in a strange way, as natural to me now as life itself. I had accepted its inevitability.

But what troubled me most wasn't dying—it was how to explain the truth to my children.

Gathering all the strength I had left, I asked the maid to call my sons to the banqueting room. I told her there was something important I needed to discuss with them—and I wanted her to be present as well.

Shortly after, I entered the room to find them already gathered. Mike, clearly annoyed, looked up and asked, "What do you want from us? I was in the middle of a meeting with a client."

I remained calm. "I didn't call you here to argue," I said gently. "There's something important I need to tell you."

His response was careless—cruel, even."Go on, old man," he said with a smirk.

Before I could speak, William, who had been quiet until then, stood up and firmly defended me. His voice was strong, respectful, and unwavering. In that moment, I felt immense pride. This is truly my son, I thought.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. The lawyer had arrived, carrying a folder of documents. I introduced him to the room, though Mike's demeanor remained disrespectful and dismissive.

Turning to the maid, I thanked her sincerely for her years of loyalty and hard work—for standing by us with honesty and care. But her face grew pale. She seemed unsettled. Then, in a trembling voice, she said:

"I have a confession to make. I believe now is the right time."

The room fell silent.

She confessed that five years ago, she had engaged in a sexual relationship with Mike. The words hit me like a blow. I was stunned—deeply hurt. But somehow, I found the strength to respond:

"It's all right," I told her gently. "I know this wasn't your will. Perhaps you were threatened or coerced. I don't blame you."

I turned to my sons and said, "I too have a confession to make. It concerns your mother."

Mike's head snapped toward me. "What about our mother?" he demanded.

And so, I told them the truth—everything. I recounted what had really happened all those years ago. I asked for their forgiveness, hoping to lighten the burden on my soul.

William listened with solemn respect. But Mike? He wasn't ready. He remained cold, distant, unwilling to forgive.

I then turned to the lawyer and nodded.

"It's time," I said. "Please read the will as I instructed it to be written."

Mike straightened in his seat, a smile forming on his face. As the firstborn, he was certain everything would be left to him—the company, the estate, the legacy. He believed it was his birthright.

But the question remains…