Empty Road: A Long Lonely Night

As he walked a lonely road, tears streamed down his face, his heart heavy with memories. Thoughts flooded his mind—the childhood he once had, filled with joy and love, before the incident that shattered his world.

To him, it was a tragedy, not just an incident. He blamed himself for the fire that started because of him, and others did too. His family was no exception.

His mother, crushed by the devastating news of her mother's death, began to shut herself off, sinking into chronic depression for two years.

His brother treated him with indifference, speaking not a word, offering only cold eyes and a nonchalant face. Perhaps it was because they hadn’t spoken in years—he was often away, busy with his own life, or maybe it was just the result of growing apart with time.

His father, who was often away on business, returned home only occasionally, and when he did, there was no warmth in his presence. He found it difficult to swallow his pride, to talk to his son, all because of what had happened to his wife.

After two years, his mother began to heal when his father adopted a girl, who became his sister. The attention she received from his older brothers was striking. They no longer treated her like he had been treated—there was no coldness, no indifference. They were sweet, protective, and showered her with love.

She shared the same facial features as his grandmother, and her sweet, loving personality made everyone adore her. Maybe that was why his mother started to cherish her, pouring all her affection into the girl instead of him.

But he couldn’t be the son who stayed by his mother’s side after the incident. Guilt gnawed at him, and when their eyes met, the disapproval in her gaze was unmistakable.

So how could he tell his family?

That he was terminally ill, that he had only two months to live, and his chances of survival were slim?

These thoughts consumed him. Would they treat him differently if they knew?

He was scared, anxious, and sad—he didn't know what to feel.

As he approached the bench, the soft glow of the neon light illuminated the darkness. He sat, trying to calm his mind and stop the thoughts that swirled within. His face reflected the weariness, the numbness of his life. He had cried too much, drained of energy.

He didn’t want to burden his family, so he decided to keep it to himself, to receive treatment quietly, and to carry the weight alone. Perhaps it was better not to tell them to spare them from sorrow.

He thought it might be better if someone else took his place as their child if he were to disappear. After all, he felt unworthy of their love, certain only that his presence caused them pain. He had spent four years feeling worthless, questioning whether they would even care if he died. All those years had made him feel unloved, unnoticed. Their conversations were empty, cruel, and hollow.

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