THE EVIL BRIDESMAID
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What’s your story?” I asked.
“My story?” he echoed.
“Yes, behind every drunk man is a past he’s trying to hide—a depressed man society will never understand.”
He laughed hysterically. “You’re right. But my tale is too terrible for most ears—a long and dreary past.”
“I’m all ears,” I encouraged.
“I am Leo, a 24-year-old drunk,” he confessed.
“A long time ago,” he continued, “when happiness was still part of my life, when I was naive to the world’s evils, I had a mom and an incredibly protective aunt who adored me more than her own life.”
“What happened to your mom?” I inquired, my voice laced with empathy.
“She was accused of murdering her sister—my aunt. My favorite person.” His voice broke as he turned away, wiping away the tears that had settled at the bottom of his cheeks.
“That’s horrific. Did she really do it?”
“I don’t know, Miss Trish. People said so many terrible things about my mom, which I still can’t reconcile.”
“What did they say?” I prodded, curiosity getting the better of me.
“They claimed my mom was envious of my aunt because she had everything—that she resented the bond we shared.”
“You must have been close to your Aunt for people to think that, huh?”
“Yes, I was,” he said with a faint smile. “My aunt was more of a mother to me than my own mom was. Yet, I never saw my mom get angry about it. She would even take me to visit my aunt at the university, and I’d spend weekends with her. I was always happy, and my love for my aunt grew. She once risked her life to save mine and donated her kidney when I was seven.”
“You’ve been through so much. You know you can leave the past behind and move on, right? You’re only 24, but you look 30. If you hadn’t shared your story, I’d never have guessed your age.”
“You wouldn’t understand, Miss Trish,” he said, washing his hands and walking away.
“I’ve endured far more than you can imagine.” He returned with a wine bottle and two glasses.
“My mom had me at just 15 years old. She faced rejection from everyone except my aunt and grandmother. When they passed, my world crumbled, and I thought I couldn’t survive.”
“Oh, poor you,” I murmured, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I was just twelve when they both left this world.” He poured wine into his glass and mine, then gulped it down like water.
“Living with my grandma, I was bullied a lot. A group of boys in my village even tried to rape me. So, at 17, I fled to the city, where I met a slightly older girl who was well-off. We became a couple and had a baby.” He paused, pointing to a framed picture on the wall. “I thought God had answered my prayers until she ran off with my son. I fell into depression again but vowed to work hard, earn money, and take my son back from her. It’s been four years since I became a successful business tycoon.”
“That’s an incredible achievement, kudos to you!”
“But when I went to find my boy, I learned he’s been missing for years.”
“How could she be so negligent with her own child?”
“I returned to drown my sorrows in alcohol, trying to forget that I’m alone in this world.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll find your child one day, and you’ll be happy again. You’ll regain the peace you deserve,” I consoled him.
I resisted the urge to examine the frame on the wall. He downed another glass and rose to fetch more. Misery was etched on his face.
I stood and encouraged him to take care of himself and not lose hope in finding his son. I promised to check on him occasionally and offered meals whenever he needed them. As I collected the plates I’d brought him food on, my curiosity got the best of me. I approached the frame, and shock made me drop the plate.
“Are you okay?” he asked, startled.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll clean this up. I can be so clumsy,” I stammered, turning back to the frame. “This is your son?” I asked, my jaw dropping.
“Yes, that’s my son when he turned four,” he replied as I stood there, stunned.
TO BE CONTINUED
