This would be the first taste of meat my son had in three long years.
After our family went bankrupt trying to save his grandfather, he had grown up far too fast, tagging along with me after school to pick up trash just to survive.
At school, he lived off plain steamed buns and bore the brunt of ridicule.
His classmates mocked him, taunted him and called him names.
Even so, with tears clinging to his lashes and bruises darkening his small face, he had looked at Amara and me, asking softly, “Dad, Mom, why did they used to call me ‘Young Master,’ but now they call me a beggar?”
My heart shattered.
I told him gently that real friends care about the person, not their wealth.
I would never forget how Amara cried as she clutched our son in her arms, her voice choked with guilt, whispering apologies, promising she’d work hard, earn money and give him a better life.
That woman, back then, was worlds apart from the one who had flaunted wealth like confetti at the hotel today.
Staring at my frail, pale son lying weakly in the hospital bed, my lips trembled. I bit down hard, but the tears still came, hot and uncontrollable.
During those three long years, her father pretended to be ill and I broke my back, working day and night, saving every cent just to give my son a birthday he could remember.
I wanted to take him to King's Fried Chicken, maybe even let him ride the carousel at the amusement park, just once.
But each time, like clockwork, the money vanished from my card, withdrawn by Amara.
She would apologize with red eyes, whispering that her father’s treatment couldn’t wait, begging me and our son to understand.
Even after he faked his death, for two more years, we were drowning in debt, barely able to scrape together rent.
Yet, through it all, my little boy never once complained.
He held his hunger like a badge of courage and would smile through the ache, saying, “Dad, didn’t you say the greatest happiness is when a family helps one another?”
“Grandpa and Mom need our help. I won’t eat King's Fried Chicken anymore.”
The King's Fried Chicken he hadn’t touched in five years.
The amusement park he never stepped foot in.
To Amara, were those just things we were meant to lose?
My son and I had been nothing more than pawns in her petty war with Laurence.
In this cruel game where I had traded heart for heart, it turned out that only my son and I had lost everything.