The news of my father’s passing hit me with a strange mix of emotions. I felt a deep-seated sadness for the loss of the man who was once my hero, but also a sense of relief that I was finally free from the toxic grasp of Vivien and her children. Yet, there was something else—a flicker of curiosity, sparked by the nurse’s cryptic words: “There are things you need to know.”
I arrived in my hometown a day before the funeral, greeted by an air of tension that seemed to hang over the house like a storm cloud. Vivien’s eyes were red, though I suspected it was more from anger than genuine grief. She didn’t spare me a glance, busy orchestrating the event as if it were one of her lavish parties rather than my father’s farewell.
The funeral was a blur of muted condolences and half-hearted sympathies from people I barely remembered. Vivien played the role of the grieving widow with aplomb, her crocodile tears fooling everyone but me. I stayed on the outskirts, knowing my presence was merely tolerated.
