Chapter 652
Without waiting for Neal’s answer, he began to rummage through the room.
There was little to search for in the cramped space, and he soon spotted a cardboard box by the wall filled with instant noodles and bottled water.
“Is this really it? No snacks or anything to go with this?” the man grumbled, but still tore open a cup of noodles. Within mere minutes, even before the noodles were properly soaked, he was already shoveling them in.
Neal’s patience thinned, but he bit back his anger. “What do you want?”
“I missed you. Isn’t it normal for a father to miss his son?” the man mumbled through mouthfuls of noodles.
Once finished, he let out a loud burp and flopped back onto the bed.
Neal stood motionless, his silence hanging in the air.
It was absurd—father and son, bound by blood, yet strangers. They shared the same space but spoke not a word to one another.
“How did you find me?” Neal asked, shifting the conversation.
The man grinned smugly, eyes closed in satisfaction. “Wasn’t there a game event you attended a few days ago? I just followed you after it was over.”
Neal’s eyes widened. His voice grew cold. “You stalked me?”
“Quit with the nonsense,” the man said, dismissing him with a wave as he shifted his position on the bed. “I’m just looking for my son. What’s the problem?” He sighed impatiently, rolling over. “I’m tired. Let me get some sleep.”
Neal remained motionless, his gaze fixed coldly on the man, who was slowly unraveling before his eyes.
Before long, the man’s breathing became steady and deep, signaling that he had succumbed to sleep. However, Neal stayed seated in a nearby chair, his mind adrift.
His childhood memories came rushing back—parents who once seemed full of love, a family that felt whole. Those days now felt like a distant, unreachable past, as if they belonged to someone else entirely.
Now, all he was left with was crushing pressure, both mental and financial, a father whose decency was eroding with each passing day, and a mother lying unconscious, fighting for her life. All of this—every bit of suffering—had been set in motion by…
A loud thud interrupted his thoughts. The man jolted awake, staggering toward the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him with force.
In the stillness of the night, Neal sat motionless, feeling the numbing ache in his leg where the man’s kick had struck.
Rising like a shadow, Neal moved toward the bathroom door, his movements slow and deliberate.
Inside, the flickering glow of a dim light cast long, uneven shadows across the floor. Neal’s hand hovered over the doorknob, his fingers trembling slightly.
Biting his lip, he stood there, paralyzed by a storm of conflicting emotions, unable to summon the resolve to turn the handle.
After a heavy silence, Neal drew in a slow, steady breath, gathering all his strength. With a sharp twist, he turned the doorknob. The bathroom light flickered to life, casting a pale glow into the dark room.
.
.
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