CHAPTER 1 The music stopped before I reached the dining room.
The music stopped before I reached the dining room.
Not because someone turned it off.
Because every guest saw my face.
Five years overseas had left their mark on me. The desert sun had darkened my skin. My shoulders had broadened from carrying steel beams. My hands looked older than my age, scarred by welding sparks and concrete dust.
No one recognized me immediately.
Until my mother looked up.
The wineglass slipped from her fingers.
It shattered across the marble floor.
"...Michael?"
Her voice was barely a whisper.
Every conversation died.
My sister was still standing behind me, frozen with the tray of roasted chicken trembling in her hands.
I stepped into the dining room.
Crystal chandeliers glowed overhead.
Fresh flowers decorated the table.
Silver serving dishes overflowed with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, steak, fresh bread, shrimp, fruit, and desserts.
Enough food to feed twenty people.
Outside, behind the kitchen...
My six-year-old son had been eating rinsed sour rice.
I slowly placed my duffel bag on the floor.
No one spoke.
My mother forced a smile.
"Oh my goodness..."
"Why didn't you tell us you were coming home?"
I looked around the table.
Business partners.
Neighbors.
Church friends.
People who believed my family was generous and respectable.
Then I answered calmly.
"I wanted to surprise my wife."
The smile disappeared.
"And my son."
Silence.
My mother recovered quickly.
"They're... resting."
I nodded.
"Yes."
May you like
"They're resting."
"In the back kitchen."
