Collateral Damage

The light faded, leaving Eric blinking against the sudden opulence that surrounded him.

The kitchen- no, the gourmet chef’s kitchen, was now a sprawling space of marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. The modest wooden table had been replaced by a sleek glass dining set, and the scent of congee had given way to something richer, truffles, maybe?, or some other obscenely expensive ingredient.

His father still sat at the table, but different. The receding hairline was gone, replaced by a full head of silver-streaked black hair, expertly styled. His wrinkled polo had transformed into a tailored dress shirt, the cuffs rolled just enough to reveal a platinum Rolex. He sipped from a delicate porcelain cup, no laptop in sight, just a folded copy of the Wall Street Journal.

Then Eric’s gaze landed on the woman beside him.

His stomach dropped.

There must have been collateral damage from when he fired the gun since his mother was so close to his father.

Gone was his mother; the sharp-eyed pharmacist who’d scolded him for leaving laundry in the washer too long. In her place sat a woman who only looked a few years older than Eric himself, her silk robe barely containing her exaggerated curves. Her plump lips glistened with gloss as she nibbled on a piece of fruit, her long lashes fluttering over doe-like eyes.

A wave of foreign memories crashed into Eric’s mind.

Stacy.

His father’s second wife. A former Instagram model turned trophy bride after the divorce. The details came in flashes, his dad’s tech empire exploding, his mother quietly accepting a settlement, this girl leaping into their lives with her designer bags and pouty lips.

Eric’s head throbbed.

"Eric?" His father’s voice was deeper now, smoother, the kind of voice used to giving orders. "What are you doing with laundry here?"

Eric swallowed, clutching the duffel bag like a lifeline to the old world. "Uh… my washing machine’s broken."

His father arched a brow. "You own a penthouse condo and you’re hauling clothes like a college student?" He sighed, shaking his head before calling out, "Esméralda! Take care of this."

A uniformed maid appeared as if summoned, her hands already reaching for Eric’s bag.

Stacy giggled, the sound high and airy. "Aw, poor baby. You work so hard, don’t you?" She stretched, the robe slipping dangerously low. "Maybe Daddy should buy you a new condo. One with better appliances."

Eric’s father chuckled, patting her thigh like she was a pet. "Maybe I should."

Eric had gotten exactly what he wanted.

So why did it feel like he’d lost something irreplaceable?