Page 199 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

He and Cassandra had always had a complicated relationship. And now, watching her turn away from him, watching her choose their father’s house over the hand he’d held out to her, I understood just how much it was costing him. I could see it in every line of his body. It was breaking his heart.

“I told you.” Michael’s voice was smooth, almost bored. “She doesn’t want to go with you. You should have just listened to me.”

Liam straightened. He turned away from Cassandra, from the closed door she’d become, and faced his father.

“You’ve always had a problem with me, haven’t you?” His voice was quiet, but it carried through the room. “I thought it was because I left your company. Because I chose to work with Cassian instead of staying in the family business. That’s what I told myself, anyway.” He let out a short, hollow laugh. “But that’s not it, is it, Dad?”

He stopped in front of the desk, his eyes locked on his father’s.

“You just don’t like me.”

Michael opened his mouth, but Liam didn’t stop.

“I saw it. You always liked Cassandra more. And that was fine. I had Mom. She was there for me. She made sure I knew that someone in this house actually wanted me around.” His voice cracked on the word Mom, just slightly.

“But then she died. And instead of trying to be there for Cassandra, instead of pulling her closer, I pushed her away. I was too busy being angry, too busy grieving, too busy pretending I didn’t need anyone.” He swallowed hard. “And then years later, when I finally tried to fix it, I was still failing. I didn’t try hard enough. I kept falling back into old habits—pushing her away instead of just being there.”

He took a breath. “That’s my failure, Dad. That’s on me. I’ll work on it. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right if she lets me.”

He leaned forward, his hands braced on the edge of the desk.

“But you know what your failure is?”

Michael’s eyes had gone cold. He didn’t speak.

“Your failure is that you have two kids, and none of them actually like you.”

Michael’s hands curled into fists on the desk.

Liam didn’t stop. “We love you. Of course we do. You’re our father. That’s the deal, isn’t it? That’s what you’re supposed to do. But like you? Want to be around you? Respect you? Feel safe in your presence?” He shook his head slowly. “No, Dad. That’s never been on the table.”

Michael’s hands were shaking. I could see it from across the room.

“I pushed my sister away when I should’ve been there for her.” Liam straightened, his eyes never leaving his father’s face. “But you? You were supposed to raise her. Like a kid. Like a person. Not like a product you wanted to perfect, tie a nice little bow on and sell to the highest bidder.”

Michael shot up from his chair, his face red, his mouth opening—

“Shut up.”

Liam didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t shout. Just said the words, quiet and final, and Michael froze.

Behind me, Cassandra gasped. I heard her stumble back, Mrs. Morris’s arm catching her before she could fall. I didn’t turn around. Neither did Liam.

His eyes stayed on his father. His father, who was standing there, mouth half-open, silenced by the son he’d never bothered to know.

“I thought she was your favourite.” Liam’s voice was softer now, almost sad. “I thought you loved her more than you ever loved me. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?” His voice cracked. “You don’t love her. I don’t think you can love anyone. You just wanted to use her. For your plans, your legacy, your precious name. You never cared how it affected her. You didn’t care what it cost her. What it was doing to her while you were polishing her into some perfect little trophy for a man who never wanted her.”

He let out a laugh—short, humorless, broken.

“You’re so selfish.” He shook his head. “I’m ashamed to call you my father. But what can I do?” He spread his hands, helplessly. “I have to. I have to call you my father.”

He took a step back, putting some distance between them. “So I’ll say it.” His mouth twisted. “But in my head, every time I do, there’s going to be a word in front of it. Just for me.”

He looked straight at Michael.

“Worthless.”

The room was silent. Michael stood frozen behind his desk, his face pale, his hands gripping the edge of the wood.