When I walked out of the building, it was raining.
Not heavy, just a light drizzle.
Just like the day Dad passed away.
I stood downstairs for a while.
And took out that letter.
The lawyer had read the first half in public.
The second half was for my eyes only.
“Julian. Dad is sorry.”
“When you were little, I really did favor Robert and Eleanor. Back then, I thought the eldest son needed to keep up the family’s appearances, and the beautiful eldest daughter needed to marry into a good family.”
“You were the youngest, the most obedient, the least troublesome. So I felt I didn’t need to worry about you.”
“Only later did I realize that a quiet child isn’t one who doesn’t feel pain. It’s just that they don’t say it when it hurts.”
“You earned your own college tuition. You never asked the family for a single cent after you started working. Robert asked Dad for a hundred and fifty thousand to buy a car. Eleanor asked Dad for two hundred thousand when she got married.”
“You never asked for anything.”
“The day Dad had the stroke, you were the first to arrive. And the only one who stayed.”
“Dad knew right then.”
“Out of the three children, only you were genuine.”
Raindrops hit the letter.
The handwriting blurred a little.
I folded the letter and put it in my pocket.
Squatting downstairs, I cried for a long time.
Not out of grievance.
Not out of anger.
It was –
Finally, someone said it.
Finally, someone saw it.
Finally, someone knew I wasn’t just “having nothing better to do.”
Finally, someone knew it wasn’t just “my obligation.”
I squatted in the rain, crying like a child.
Three years of tears all poured out.
Later, my phone rang.
It was Robert.
I didn’t answer.
It rang again.
Eleanor.
I didn’t answer either.
It rang seven or eight times in a row.
I turned off my phone.
Stood up.
Wiped away my tears.
The rain was still falling.
I had no umbrella.
But I walked very steadily.
