The Second Goodbye is Forever

Three years into my fake death, my wife and daughter showed up at my door. To get rid of them, I grabbed a knife and threatened to end my life. Then my seven-year-old daughter put her hand on my father's ventilator. Claire Harrison stood beside her, her voice trembling as she delivered her ultimatum. "Wesley, either you see your father suffocate to death, or you come back and be my husband again. Your choice." I was shaking with rage, but I put down the knife and remarried her. Walking back into that familiar villa, I became the Harrison family's model "devoted husband and father." When my foster brother needed her company because he was feeling down, I cleared out and booked myself a hotel. I ended up with a perforated ulcer, went into surgery, and never once called her. When my daughter got picky and said she only wanted her uncle's cooking, I went straight to Dylan's place and brought him back to live with us. Even on my birthday, when Dylan suddenly started crying and said, "I'm so jealous of you, Wesley. You've got such a wonderful wife and kid. Me? I've never even gotten a decent birthday present," I didn't hesitate—I slid the onyx bead bracelet off my wrist and pressed it into his hand. The deep black beads gleamed against his pale skin. But Claire's eyes went red. She grabbed my wrist, her voice sharp as a blade. "Wesley, that was the love token I prayed for you—step by step on my knees—all the way across the Mojave." Chapter 1 The air went dead. Dylan quickly grabbed the bracelet and made a show of pulling it off. "I'm so sorry, Claire—I had no idea this was your love token. I'll give it right back to Wesley." Beside him, little Maya's face tightened. She pointed an accusing finger at me. "Dad knew exactly how precious it was, and he shoved it at Uncle Dylan on purpose—just to embarrass him. Dad, you're a total jerk!" Claire stared at me, her eyes fixed and heavy with exhaustion. "Wesley. How much longer are you going to keep this up? I brought you back here because I wanted us to actually make this work." All I felt was bitter absurdity. Back then, if Dylan wanted something and I took even a second too long to hand it over, I'd pay for it. Now I was being obedient—and she still wasn't happy. I turned, picked up the limited-edition watch Claire had just given me, and held it out to Dylan. "Is the bracelet not enough for you? Here. Take this too." Claire's face went ashen. She shot up and swept the birthday cake off the table with one arm. Cream splattered across my shirt. The porcelain plate shattered on the floor. "Wesley, do you have to be this sarcastic and calculated? Just to hurt me?" "I'm not." Claire shut her eyes and forced herself to breathe. "I know you're still angry that I put Dylan in the ambulance first. But he was hemorrhaging—he almost didn't make it. And I've spent all these years searching for a heart donor that matches you, because I never wanted that kind of tragedy to happen again. Wesley, please. Stop sulking. Just try with me. Okay?" I gave her a hollow nod. Maya shot up from her chair, fuming. "Mom already apologized! Why are you still so cold? No wonder nobody in this family likes you except Grandpa." That landed like a blow straight to my heart. I let out a cold laugh. "Good. Because aside from your Grandpa, I don't like a single one of you either." Claire went rigid. Her eyes turned icy to the core. "Fine. Since you don't care about anything and don't like anyone, here's the new arrangement—starting today, Dylan and I will sleep in the master bedroom. You can move down to the servant's quarters." I didn't argue. I just turned and walked calmly upstairs. Behind me, Maya clapped her little hands and cheered. "Yes! Now I get to sleep with Mom and Uncle Dylan every single night!" Chapter 2 Back in my room, I quietly started packing. I opened the closet—cashmere coats, luxury car keys, custom suits... All the things I couldn't afford back when we were struggling, Claire had replaced one by one. The diffuser on the nightstand was blended by her own hands. Even the curtains had been swapped back to the deep jade green I used to love. In the two years since I'd returned to the Harrison house, she'd almost become that girl again—the one whose eyes used to light up just looking at me. But I wasn't that easily won over anymore by sweet words and soft gestures. I only took the few sets of clothes I'd been wearing when I was forcibly brought back here. The moment I laid them in my suitcase, Claire walked in. She grabbed my wrist, slid the onyx bead bracelet back over my hand, and gave a flat command, "Keep this. And don't you ever give it away again." I looked up, surprised. She'd actually gone and gotten it back from Dylan. Her eyes swept over my suitcase, and her brow tightened. "That's all you're taking?" "There's no point taking things that aren't mine." Something dark flickered behind her eyes. I'd set her off again. "Fine. Since none of it's good enough for you, it's all worthless." She raised her voice. "Someone—take everything I ever bought for Wesley and burn them all. And from now on, he doesn't use a single thing without Dylan's approval." My expression didn't change. I picked up my suitcase and walked out. I'd barely reached the stair landing when a hard shove sent me tumbling down the steps. My knee scraped raw against the edge, burning. Maya stood at the top, glaring down at me. "You never actually changed—it was all an act! You're just trying to drive a wedge between Mom and Uncle Dylan. I'm warning you—if you ever bully him again, I'm done with you." Her eyes caught the edge of a small leather pouch peeking out from my pocket—a protective charm I'd carried for my father. Before I could stop her, she snatched it. "Give it back!" I forced myself up, reaching for it. I'd spent three days and nights in prayer at the cathedral to get that charm blessed for him. Maya dangled it tauntingly. "Every time you mess with Uncle Dylan, I'll destroy something of yours—then you'll think twice." She tore the pouch open and ripped the blessed prayer card inside to shreds. Fragments of worn paper fluttered down over me like ash. The last shred of restraint I had left snapped clean in two. My palm connected with her cheek—hard. My voice came out ice-cold. "The one thing I regret most in this life is giving you my heart. Since you love Dylan that much, go ahead—make him your father. Fine by me." Maya clutched her face, stunned speechless. I didn't look back. I limped down to the cramped, shabby servant's room, biting through the pain. I was just cleaning my wounds when the door slammed open. Claire stormed in, voice blazing. "Wesley, are you seriously going to take it out on a child—" She stopped cold when she saw the bruises scattered across my body. Her voice dropped. "How did you get this banged up?" She guided me back to the bed, tending to my injuries with surprising gentleness. For just a moment, I glimpsed the old Claire—and my eyes stung. "Wesley." Her gaze softened. She leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head away on instinct. She froze. Then her hand gripped my jaw, forcing me still, and she kissed me with a kind of desperate force. The taste of blood crept between us. I stayed rigid, letting it happen, while fragments of the past flickered through my mind like broken glass. When her hand slid beneath my collar, a wave of nausea hit me hard. I shoved her off and doubled over the bed, retching. "Wesley!" Her face twisted. "Do you find me that disgusting?" I wiped my mouth and looked away, voice flat. "Sorry. I'm not feeling well. If you need that, maybe go find Dylan instead." Claire's eyes filled with pain, her voice wavering. "You're pushing me away again? I've told you a hundred times—after you left, I never let another man touch me. The only reason I look after Dylan is because your mother asked me to on her deathbed." I met her gaze evenly. "I believe you. I know nothing happened between you." A vein pulsed at her temple. She kicked over the trash can and slammed the door behind her. Not long after, my phone lit up with a video call from Claire. I hesitated, then answered. Dylan's ragged breathing filled the room. On the screen, Claire was straddling him, moving without restraint. On the nightstand beside them sat our wedding photo. Her hand was pressed flat against my face in the frame, leaving a wet palm print. Dylan locked eyes with me through the screen, a smug curl at the corner of his mouth. "Claire, slow down. Wesley's watching." Claire angled the camera toward the bed, her voice laced with a vengeful chill. "Since you don't trust me, I'll give you something real to picture. Watch closely—see just how good Dylan and I are together. And don't you dare hang up until we're done." All night, she dragged him through every corner of the master bedroom, leaving traces of their indulgence wherever they went. Every inch of the screen was soaked in color and sound that turned my stomach inside out, leaving nothing but raw disgust. Only when the first gray light of dawn crept in did Claire finally end the call reluctantly. Chapter 3 My already fragile heart couldn't take it. A dull, crushing ache pressed against my chest. I dragged my weak body across the room to find my usual medication. The moment I tipped the pills into my palm, a small figure rushed over, snatched them from my hand, and flung them to the floor. "Who said you could take medicine without permission? You don't get to touch anything without Uncle Dylan's say-so!" Maya glared at me, vicious. The pain in my chest tightened. I didn't have the strength to argue—I just bent down to gather the scattered pills. But before I could reach them, a little foot stomped down hard, grinding the pills into the floorboards until they were crushed and embedded in the dust. "Shameless! Thief! Get out of my house!" Her voice pierced through the air like a shard of glass. A deafening ring exploded in my ears. My artificial heart maxed out under the strain. I couldn't hold myself up anymore—I collapsed, and the past came flooding back. Maya had been sickly since birth. By the time they found her heart condition, there was no time left to wait for a donor. So I went in for the match quietly, and without a second thought, gave her my healthy heart. I had an artificial one put in its place. I spent weeks hovering between life and death. But the first day Maya was well enough to get out of bed, she didn't come to see me. She ran straight to Dylan instead. "Uncle Dylan, when are you going to be my daddy for real? My dad is so annoying. Mom smokes one extra cigarette, and he nags for hours. I watch a little TV, and he lectures me. You're way better—you buy me burgers, take me to the amusement park. Me and Mom, we both love hanging out with you." I stood right outside the door and heard every single word. The scar from my surgery burned like it was fresh all over again. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped forward. "Maya, I went under the knife for you. I nearly gave up half my life. And this is how you talk about me?" Dylan immediately stepped in front of her, soft and defensive. "Come on, Wesley. She's just a kid—she doesn't know how to watch her mouth. Why get so worked up and yell at her like that?" With Dylan shielding her, Maya grew bolder. She craned her neck and screamed right at me, "I just can't stand you! You're cold and never nice! Why didn't you just die on that operating table, anyway? Mom's already pregnant with Uncle Dylan's baby, so I'm gonna have a little brother soon. We don't even need you." That hit me like a thunderbolt to the skull. My whole body locked up. My blood ran hot and cold at once. The world went black, and I crumpled. When I opened my eyes again, Claire was sitting beside me. She saw I was awake. A long silence passed. Then she spoke flatly, "Since you already know, I'm not going to lie to you. Dylan and I slept together. The day your mother was buried. I told you I was too drunk to hear your phone call. But really, Dylan was all over me, and I didn't have a free hand to answer." My brain went blank. I remembered that day. Dylan had broken down crying at the funeral. I was worried about him, so I asked Claire to drive him home first. My family was small—before the burial was even over, my uncles and cousins were already fighting over the inheritance. To keep our old house, my dad and I got beaten black and blue. I called Claire a dozen times. She never picked up once. While I was at my lowest—broken and desperate—she was tangled up with Dylan. My heart tore apart. Humiliation and rage flooded my head. I slapped her across the face, again and again. She just sat there, eyes lowered, taking it without flinching. But when I moved to go after Dylan, she grabbed my wrist and exploded. "Wesley! You grew up with parents who adored you, and me by your side. You never wanted for anything. But Dylan had nothing—no one, nowhere to belong. Can't you just let him have this one thing?" Seeing how blatantly she favored him broke something in me for good. My voice came out hoarse. "Claire. Let's get a divorce." "No!" She threw her arms around me, her tone turning soft and pleading. "I'm sorry, I didn't think before I spoke. Wesley, I only see Dylan as a brother. He's just overly sensitive—he was terrified that after Mom died, we'd throw him out. That's why he drugged me. I swear, it was only that one time. It'll never happen again. Think of Maya—she just got a healthy heart. Are you really going to take her home away from her now?" In that moment, I wavered. No matter how angry I was, Maya was still the child I'd raised. "Fine. One more chance. But you get rid of the baby. You send Dylan away. Cut him off completely." Claire hesitated. Then, finally, she bit her lip and nodded. "Okay. I promise." She deleted all of Dylan's contacts right in front of me. She came home on time every day, gentle and accommodating. Even Maya softened—she was better behaved, sweeter. I started to believe we might actually find our way back. Then came Maya's birthday. I left work early to surprise her—I wanted to take her to the amusement park. I'd barely reached the front door when I heard them talking inside. "Mom, when are we going to see Uncle Dylan and the baby? I miss him so much." Claire's voice dropped to a whisper. "Shh. Just wait till your dad gets home. We'll figure out a way to slip something into his drink. Once he's sound asleep, we'll sneak out and go see Uncle Dylan." I stood frozen outside the door, like I'd fallen straight into a frozen pit. Chapter 4 That night, I drank the milk Claire handed me like always. After the two of them crept out quietly, I got up and followed. They led me all the way to a luxury apartment. Through the gap in the door, I saw Dylan sitting comfortably on the couch. Claire fed him fruit with gentle hands and massaged his legs. "I'm sorry I couldn't be with you these past few days. You've been through so much." Maya curled up beside her, pouting. "It's all Dad's fault—he's so petty, he wouldn't let Mom bring you back home." I shoved the door open, my voice trembling. "You said you sent him away. Claire, how much of your words are actually true?" Claire stepped in front of Dylan, squaring off against me. "Wesley, that's enough! Dylan has never tried to take anything from you. He's been here without a name, without status, just keeping me company. He's already suffered enough. Can you stop being so selfish for once?" Dylan straightened up, emboldened. "Come on, Wesley. You're older, and you've never known how to keep a woman interested. Claire got tired of you a long time ago. If it's not going to be me, she'll find someone else—so why not let it be me?" I couldn't hold back anymore. I grabbed a vase off the table and hurled it at him. The fight exploded from there. In the chaos, Dylan and I tumbled off the balcony. The ambulance came. The medics assessed us both quickly, then turned to Claire with a grim look. "Both are critical. We only have the equipment to prioritize one. Ms. Harrison, who do you choose?" Claire didn't even glance my way. "Save Dylan." I lay on the cold pavement, watching the ambulance lights fade into the distance. The last flicker of hope in my eyes went dark. My hand shaking, I dialed a number I hadn't called in years. "If I survive this, help me stage my death." "Wesley! Wesley!" Claire's voice pulled me back from the edge of consciousness. She lifted me up, hands trembling as she shoved the emergency pills into my mouth. The medication slowly took effect, easing the crushing weight in my chest. I turned my head to see Maya standing there, neck stiff, wearing a look of pure defiance. Claire's palm connected with her cheek. "You little monster, who told you to throw away your father's medicine?" Maya burst into tears. Dylan pulled her into his arms. "Claire, don't be so hard on her. She's just a kid—she doesn't understand all this complicated stuff." Then he produced a forged surgical record. "I didn't want to say anything, but Wesley has gone too far. He already had a heart transplant. He's not as fragile as he pretends to be." Claire scanned the document, and her eyes went cold. "You've recovered this whole time? You've been playing weak and distant just to punish me?" I didn't bother defending myself. I just looked at her with empty eyes. Claire flung the papers in my face. "I was actually going to make up for your birthday today. But since you're so ungrateful and so full of lies, forget it." She left with Dylan and Maya, locking the door behind her. I didn't care. I had no interest in going anywhere with them anyway. Not long after, Maya posted a photo on social media. Claire had her arm around Dylan, Maya beaming in the middle. The caption read: [A happy little family of three.] I liked the post without a second thought. Then my phone started buzzing relentlessly. It was the hospital. "Mr. Harrison, your father is in critical condition. Get here now." My heart dropped. I rushed for the door, but it was locked tight. I called Claire. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer. Desperate, I ran to the window and jumped. The impact shot a searing pain through my right leg. I gritted my teeth, clawed my way up, and limped to the street to flag down a car. But by the time I got there, it was already too late. Chapter 5 The hospital room was deathly silent. The doctor gave me a helpless look. "I'm sorry. He was triggered by a severe shock. There was nothing we could do." I collapsed onto the floor, hollowed out completely. While going through my father's things, I found a voice recorder tucked beneath his pillow. I pressed play. Dylan's voice came through—soft, venomous, dripping with cruelty. "Barry, I feel sorry for you, so let me tell you the truth. I was never adopted. I'm Mom's biological son. You and my father spent your whole lives fighting each other—and in the end, you raised his kid for decades. Isn't that hilarious? "Oh, and that old house you and Wesley fought so hard to keep? Mom transferred it to my name the day I turned eighteen. Thanks for taking such good care of it for me..." "You could never beat my father, and your useless son will never beat me. His wife, his daughter, his money—it's all going to be mine. You two have been my lucky charms all along." My father had been in a vegetative state—but he could still hear. Dylan had killed him—slowly, deliberately, with words. Rage burned through me like acid. I tore out of the hospital and straight to the amusement park. From a distance, I saw the three of them laughing on the grass. I clenched the fruit knife in my hand and charged—I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to take Dylan down with me. Claire caught my wrist. "Wesley! What the hell are you doing now?" A crowd gathered, pointing and whispering. Maya threw herself in front of Dylan. "My dad is mentally ill! He's always bullying Uncle Dylan. Uncle Dylan finally got Mom pregnant again, and now Dad's trying to hurt him just like before. He's crazy! He's a horrible man! Get away from him!" She picked up a rock and hurled it at me. The crowd followed her lead. "He's mentally unstable and attacking people—probably faking it for sympathy!" "What a monster! Stone him!" The insults and contempt crashed over me like a tidal wave. I looked across the crowd at Claire, who was still shielding Dylan with her body. A smile twisted across my face—bitter, shattered, hopeless. "Claire. If there's a next life, I pray I never meet you." Then I raised the fruit knife and drove it straight into my own heart.