Chapter 3: Refusing to Be the Scapegoat

I closed my eyes and gently placed my hands on my mother’s shoulders.

Her sweater was rough under my fingertips, her shoulders bony and rigid. I tried to steady her, and maybe myself too.

“Don’t worry. If they come, I’ll be here.”

My voice was soft, but I saw the hope flicker in her eyes. She wanted to believe it, needed to.

My mother smiled in relief.

For a moment, it was like she could finally breathe again. I almost felt guilty for what I was about to do.

I bent down, leaned close to her ear, and whispered, “I booked a flight. I’m leaving today.”

The words were barely more than a breath, but they hit her like a slap.

My mother stared at me in disbelief for a moment. “What about your brother? He hasn’t even been buried yet, and you’re just going to leave? What kind of person are you?”

Her voice was sharp, echoing through the room. I saw heads turn, people whispering behind their hands.

I put on an innocent face. “Anyway, they can’t do anything to a dead person. At most, they’ll check if he’s really dead. Worst case, they’ll drag him out and take out their anger on the corpse.”

I tried to sound casual, but my heart raced. I could hear the gasps around us—some in horror, others in fascination, as if this was just another episode of reality TV.

I paused. “That’s still better than crippling a living person, isn’t it?”

My tone stayed flat, but I held her gaze. For once, I refused to flinch.

My mother was stunned for a second, then shoved me away through gritted teeth. “You heartless jerk!”

She hissed the words, her nails digging into my arm before she let go. It stung, but not as much as her betrayal.

She flung herself onto the casket, wailing, “Even if I die today, I’ll die here with Ethan. Nobody cares about me!”

Her sobs rose again, louder than before—a performance meant for every witness in the room. The funeral director shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his watch.

Fine, let her and her son put on their big show of mother-son devotion.

I just stood back and watched the curtain go up. I could practically see the credits rolling—Ethan as the tragic hero, Mom as the grieving mother, and me as the villain.

All the relatives started blaming me for being heartless while pitying them.

I felt the wall of judgment close in, every cousin and neighbor taking their cue to scold or console.

They surrounded me, trying to persuade me:

“Ryan, it’s not that your aunt wants to say this, but you never cared about your brother before, and now you don’t care about your parents. Honestly, Ryan, even a stray mutt knows how to stick by its family.”

My Aunt Karen wagged her finger, her voice shrill and righteous. I remembered her feeding me mac and cheese as a kid, and now she looked at me like I was something foul on her shoe.

“Exactly. Even a dog knows to protect its family. You’re a thankless wolf who doesn’t care about your own parents.”

Uncle Mike chimed in from the back, always eager to add a little gasoline to the fire. I clenched my jaw and stared at my shoes.

“We’re all here today. You’re not leaving.”

Aunt Linda blocked the doorway with her arms crossed, as if her presence alone could keep me from escaping.

I clutched my backpack and swept a cold gaze around the room.

My palms were sweaty against the worn canvas of the bag. I met each accusing stare head-on, daring them to say something I hadn’t already heard.

So this was why my parents had gathered all these relatives—to stop me from escaping.

The realization was a gut punch. I wasn’t family—I was the target of an intervention, a sacrifice for their peace of mind.

I said, “Uncles and aunts, you’re really good to our family.”

My voice dripped with sarcasm, but none of them noticed. They smiled, thinking they’d won.

They straightened their backs proudly. “Of course, family should help each other.”

Their self-satisfaction was almost comical. For a second, I wanted to laugh out loud.

I laughed twice and held out my hand to them. “Then lend me fifty thousand.”

I let my hand hang there, palm up, just long enough for the silence to become awkward.

“Aunt Karen, don’t you have fifty thousand? Twenty thousand is fine too. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back for sure.”

Her face went red, and she looked away, pretending to fuss with her purse. Uncle Mike checked his phone like he’d suddenly gotten a very important email.

“If someone lends me the money, I won’t have to leave.”

I let my gaze linger on each of them, waiting. The silence stretched, thick and accusing.

The funeral home fell silent. The people blocking my way slowly stepped aside.

The tension broke like a rubber band snapping. The circle of family loosened, people murmuring excuses as they shuffled away. For once, their words had failed them.

My mother stared at those relatives in shock, mouth open but speechless.

She’d expected them to back her up, but now she was alone, her allies scattering like leaves in the wind.