The somber atmosphere in the chapel weighed heavily on my shoulders as I accepted the condolences of another well-wisher. "I am sorry for your loss," they offered, their voice filled with sympathy. I mustered a weak "thank you," but I couldn't help feeling the growing fatigue in hearing those words repeated over and over the past few weeks.

I glanced around the chapel, filled with faces I recognized and others I didn't. Friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintances had gathered to pay their respects. But even amid this sea of mourners, I felt alone, as if an impenetrable wall had risen between me and the rest of the world. I knew they meant well, but their words did little to ease the pain that had settled in my chest like a heavy stone.

The memories of my mother played like a bittersweet symphony in my mind, a montage of moments that I would forever hold dear. Her infectious laughter, the smell of her homemade apple pie, the comforting embrace that always made the world seem less daunting – these fragments of her essence filled my thoughts. She had been the heart of our family, the one who guided us through life's challenges with unwavering love and support. Now, her absence left a void too vast to comprehend.

As I stood there, I couldn't help but wonder if those offering their condolences truly understood the depth of my grief. For them, it might have been a polite formality, a way to fulfill the societal obligation of acknowledging a loss. But for me, it was a cruel reminder of the hollowness that now echoed within my heart.

The priest's voice, low and solemn, called the congregation to take their seats. I found my place beside Ella,  her teary eyes mirroring my own. In her presence, I discovered a fragile thread of solace, a shared sorrow that transcended words. We clung to each other, two lost souls adrift in the tempest of our grief.

The chapel's dim lighting cast a melancholic hue over the wooden pews, the stained-glass windows, and the flickering candles that lined the altar. The scent of flowers and incense hung in the air, mingling with the collective sadness that permeated the room. It was a place of mourning, a sanctuary where we had gathered to say our final goodbye.

As the priest continued with the service, his words blurred into a distant drone. My thoughts wandered, retracing the moments my mother and I had shared. I remembered her advice, her unwavering support, the way she could always make me smile even in the darkest of times. Her absence felt like a chasm, an unfillable void in the tapestry of my life.

Ella's trembling hand found mine under the cover of the pew. We clung to each other, drawing strength from our shared grief. In that moment, we were united by more than blood; we were bound by the profound loss of the woman who had shaped us into who we were.

The priest's voice finally broke through the haze of my thoughts. "It is now time for the family to speak," he announced, and I felt Ella's grip on my hand tighten. Together, we would stand before our loved ones and honor our mother's memory with our words. It was a daunting task, for how could mere words encapsulate the depth of our love and the magnitude of our loss?

As I approached the lectern, my heart raced. Memories of my mother surged within me, urging me to find the strength to say goodbye. This was my chance to convey the love and gratitude I felt, to share her spirit with those who had gathered to remember her.

But as I opened my mouth to speak, I couldn't help but wonder if any words would ever be enough to bid a final farewell to the woman who had meant everything to me.

As I stood before the lectern, gathering my thoughts to speak, a brief, troubling notion slipped through my mind like a shadow. It was a thought that had been gnawing at me since that fateful day in the mansion when my mother had been trapped under the fallen statue.

The nagging feeling that it was somehow my fault.

My powers, the chaotic abilities that were supposed to be a gift, had failed me when I needed them most. In that moment of crisis, when chaos should have surged through me, I had been powerless to save her. A feeling of guilt crept over me like a shroud, a burden I wasn't sure I could bear.

But as I looked out at the mournful faces of our family and friends, I knew I couldn't let those thoughts consume me now. It was a day to remember and celebrate my mother's life, not dwell on what I couldn't change.

With a deep breath, I began to speak, my voice trembling at first but growing stronger as I shared the memories and love I held for her.

"Ladies and gentlemen,

Today, we gather to say our final goodbyes to a remarkable woman, my mother. She was a member of the Earth Faction, and it's truly fitting that she embodied the essence of grounding our chaotic family. Her unwavering love, her gentle strength, and her ability to keep us steady when chaos threatened to consume us, these were the qualities that defined her.

As I stand before you today, I can't help but feel a mixture of emotions. There is sorrow, of course, for the loss of a woman who was the heart and soul of our family. But there is also anger, a burning anger that simmers just beneath the surface.

My mother was a beacon of love and kindness. Her laughter was a soothing melody that filled our home, even in the darkest of times. But she was also a woman who bore her burdens silently, who masked her pain with a smile. Her resilience was nothing short of extraordinary.

In her final moments, she faced a fate none of us could have foreseen. She was taken from us far too soon, leaving a void that will never be filled. But in our grief, let us remember the strength and grace she displayed throughout her life. Her legacy lives on in the love and unity of this family."

I look at my sister, Ella, and I see the pain in her eyes, the tears she's trying so hard to hold back. My heart aches for her. I know that no matter how tough she appears on the outside, inside, she's just as broken as the rest of us.

And then, I look at my father. He sits there, not with his children, but next to the leader of the Death Faction, as if his own family is an afterthought. My anger swells. The man who should have been our rock, who should have been there to support us through this unimaginable loss, has chosen to distance himself.

"So today, let us focus on the woman we are here to honor. My mother was a light in our lives, a beacon of hope and love. Her memory will forever be etched in our hearts, and it is our duty to carry forward the legacy of kindness and unity that she so embodied.

Thank you."

The priest nodded solemnly as he approached me, his hand gently resting on my shoulder. "Thank you, Kyle," he whispered, guiding me away from the podium. I couldn't tear my eyes away from Ella, who stood there, tears streaming down her face, her voice choked with grief.

"Ella," the priest called softly, prompting her to step forward. She made her way to the podium, her steps faltering, like a fragile flower trembling in the wind. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation, waiting for her to speak, but the weight of her grief seemed to strangle her words.

Ella stood at the podium, her voice quivering as she tried to form words. She took a deep breath, her tear-filled eyes scanning the audience before her. "M-mom," she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands trembled as she clutched the sides of the wooden lectern.

The room was silent, save for the stifled sobs of a few mourners. Ella's struggle to speak was evident, and it seemed like time had stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking another steadying breath.

"She was the most caring person I've ever known," Ella continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. "She had a heart full of love and compassion. She always put others before herself, and she made our home a place of warmth and safety. She was the anchor that held our family together, and I... I don't know how we'll ever be the same without her."

As Ella spoke, I couldn't help but overhear the whispers of the crowd. Some were sympathetic, their faces reflecting sorrow for my sister's pain. But others weren't as kind. "The powerless is crying," I heard someone mutter, and it stung like a thousand tiny needles. Other comments were less subtle, more hurtful.

Unable to bear it any longer, I stepped forward, my arm encircling Ella's shoulders. I leaned in close, my voice just for her. "You don't have to do this, Ella," I whispered. "Let's go sit down."

I could feel her trembling, her sobs still echoing through the room.

Then, as if in a trance, I watched as my father was called to the podium. I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and bitterness toward him, but I knew that now was not the time for that. All that mattered was Ella, the pain we both felt, and the memory of our mother, who had meant the world to us. I held onto my sister tightly, providing what little comfort I could, as our father began to speak, and our mother's final journey began.

My father's voice resonated through the somber room, a room filled with mourners who had gathered to pay their last respects to my mother, Aurelia. He began his speech with a voice that trembled, betraying the weight of his loss.

"I stand before you today, not as a governor or a leader of the chaos faction, but as a man who has lost the love of his life," my father began, his words carrying the heavy burden of grief. "Aurelia was not just my wife; she was my partner, my confidante, and the mother of our two remarkable children, Kyle and Ella."

As he spoke, I couldn't help but watch him closely. His facade of sorrow was convincing, but I knew better. I knew the man behind the mask.

"She belonged to the earth faction," he continued, his tone softening. "And, in a way, she grounded our family. She was the stability in a world of chaos, the anchor in a sea of uncertainty. Her wisdom, her kindness, and her unwavering support were the bedrock upon which our family was built."

A few mourners nodded in agreement, some even shared knowing smiles. My mother had been universally beloved, and her absence was deeply felt.

My father paused for a moment, seemingly collecting himself. "But we must remember that Aurelia's legacy extends beyond our family. She was a symbol of unity among the factions, a bridge between our differences. Her commitment to diplomacy, her tireless efforts to promote understanding, and her genuine friendships with members of all factions exemplified the harmony we strive to achieve."

I listened to his words with growing unease. It was as if he was using my mother's death as a platform to deliver a political message. His speech was carefully crafted, designed to appeal to the factions, to remind them of her role as a unifying figure.

But beneath the surface, I sensed something more sinister. My father's ambitions were vast, and I couldn't help but feel that he was using this moment to solidify his standing among the governors and secure his grip on the factions.

As he continued down this political path, my frustration grew, and I couldn't shake the feeling that my mother's memory was being exploited for his personal gain.

His words had turned my mother's funeral into a strategic opportunity for him to advance his own agenda. The mourners, still reeling from the loss of such a beloved figure, seemed largely unaware of this manipulation.

"And so," my father declared, his voice echoing through the room, "it is our duty to honor Aurelia's memory by upholding the principles she held dear—the principles of unity and cooperation. It is through unity that we can ensure stability and prosperity for all."

His words rang hollow in my ears. I knew that my mother's death was a tragic loss, but I couldn't ignore the sense that my father was exploiting it to bolster his own power within the factions. As he continued to speak about the importance of unity, I couldn't help but feel a rising anger.

I glanced over at Ella, who sat next to Lyla, her eyes still red from crying. She, too, seemed to sense the insincerity in our father's words. Our mother's death had hit her hard, and I couldn't stand the thought of her being subjected to this political grandstanding.

My father's speech droned on, his words becoming a blur as my anger and frustration intensified. It was as if he had forgotten that we were mourning the loss of a loved one, that this should be a time for grief and remembrance, not for political maneuvering.

I knew my mother deserved better than this.

Unable to stomach any more of his grandiose words and feigned emotions, I leaned in close to Ella. "Stay here with Lyla," I whispered to her, my voice tight with frustration. "I need some air."

Ella nodded, her eyes still puffy from crying, and I rose from my seat, glancing around at the shocked expressions of the mourners. Some seemed surprised by my departure, while others exchanged knowing looks, as if they understood my frustration.

I walked out of the room, feeling the weight of their collective gaze on my back. My father's speech would continue without me, but I had no desire to be a part of it any longer.

As I paced outside the chapel, my emotions grew increasingly turbulent. The anger, frustration, and sorrow that had been building inside me found their way to the surface, and I couldn't contain it any longer.

"I can't stand it, Alex!" I burst out, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and despair. "I can't stand what my father's become, how he's acting during this... this funeral."

Alex, always the voice of reason, tried to calm me down. He led me over to one of the wooden benches and motioned for me to sit. "Kyle, I know it's tough. Losing your mom, dealing with your father's behavior... it's a lot to handle."

I took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. "It's not just that, Alex. It's... it's everything. He's always been so obsessed with power, with the factions, with politics. And now, at my mom's funeral, he's turning it into some political statement."

Alex nodded sympathetically, understanding the depth of my frustration. "I've seen it, too, Kyle. It's like he's forgotten what really matters."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about my mother. "She was the heart of our family, you know? She kept us grounded, made us remember what was important. And now... now that she's gone, it's like he's lost in this world of power and ambition, and he's dragging me and Ella along with him."

Alex reached out and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "You're not alone in this, Kyle. You have your sister, and you have friends who care about you."

I wiped away a stray tear with the back of my hand. "I know, Alex. I just... I wish I could protect Ella from all of this. She's so young, and she doesn't deserve to be caught up in our father's ambitions."

"We'll look out for her," Alex assured me. "And as for your father, maybe it's time you had a real talk with him. Let him know how you feel."

I nodded, contemplating the idea. Confronting my father was a daunting prospect, but I knew that something had to change. "You're right, Alex. I can't let things continue like this."

He then hugged me."I'm so sorry I wasn't there when it happened," Alex murmured, his voice filled with regret.

I pulled away from the hug and looked at my friend. "It's not your fault, Alex. None of us expected it to happen."

His concern was genuine as he asked, "Have they figured out who did it?"

I sighed heavily, knowing that the answer was far from simple. "It's... complicated. Some members of different factions had already started doubting my father's role and power. Seeing that Ella didn't have any powers was the final straw for them. They started rebelling against him, and it's causing chaos within our faction."

Alex raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the situation. "Rebelling? Against your father?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's been a mess. My father has been shaken by this in the past weeks. He's been desperately trying to rebuild the unity between the factions. It's like he's lost control, and it doesn't help that Morana has been oddly involved and close to our family."

Alex frowned, his expression growing more serious. "Morana Shadowgrave? The Death Faction governor?"

I elaborated on Morana's extensive involvement with my family, including her consistent presence during dinners and various events. It was as if she had taken up residence to help my father maintain order within the Chaos Faction.

"It's unnerving, Alex," I confessed. "I don't think she means any harm, but having her around so much... It's not sitting right with me. I can't help but feel that her presence is causing more harm than good, especially for my father."

Alex furrowed his brow, sharing my concerns. "I mean we've known her long enough, and she's always struck me as rather intense. But this level of involvement, especially during such a difficult time for your family, is indeed unusual."

I nodded, acknowledging the peculiar situation. "And then there are the renovations to the mansion. Rupture has been tirelessly working on restoring it after the fire, and I'm genuinely grateful for their help. But even that feels... off."

As I continued, my frustration and confusion over my father's actions grew more apparent. "You know, Alex, I can't help but feel like my father is more focused on politics and maintaining his power within the faction than he is on coping with our mother's loss. It's as if her death has become secondary to his political ambitions, and that's what concerns me the most."

Alex placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I understand your worries, Kyle. It's a difficult situation for your family, and it must be even more challenging for your sister, Ella."

I sighed, my thoughts heavy with concern for my family. "Yeah, Ella's taking it the hardest. She doesn't possess any powers, and now she's expected to fill our mother's role in the family. It's a tremendous burden for her."

As we continued our conversation, I couldn't shake the feeling that Morana's presence and my father's political preoccupations were impacting my family in ways I didn't yet fully understand.

As the funeral came to an end, I couldn't help but reflect on Alex's words. The farewell had been a somber affair, filled with condolences and shared grief. But amidst the formalities, I had felt a growing sense of unease about the state of my family.

Ella, visibly shaken, had received a plethora of consoling words and embraces. The crowd had dispersed, offering their condolences as they left the site. I had maintained a strong facade, acknowledging each person's sympathy with a nod and a weary smile. Inside, though, a turmoil of emotions churned.

I started making my way back to the mansion, following the winding path that led through the cemetery. The gray sky overhead matched my mood, casting a pall over everything. It was a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of our city, a stark reminder of the fragility of life.

As I approached the mansion, my thoughts swirled with a mixture of sadness, anger, and uncertainty. Alex's concerns about Morana's unusual involvement and my father's increasingly political focus echoed in my mind. I needed to confront these issues, to protect my family from any hidden agendas or manipulations.

It was clear that the loss of our mother had created a void that threatened to destabilize the very core of our family. Ella, my gentle and powerless sister, had been thrust into a role she was ill-prepared for. My father's actions, however well-intentioned they might be, had left me questioning his priorities and his ability to guide us through this challenging period.

As I stepped onto the mansion's grand entrance, I knew that difficult conversations and decisions lay ahead. It was a daunting prospect, but I was determined to ensure that my family found a way to heal and move forward, despite the chaos that surrounded us.

I then found Ella sitting in the dimly lit living room, her eyes puffy from crying. She looked up as I approached, and a sad smile flickered across her face.

"Hey, Kyle," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of her grief.

I sat down beside her, close enough to offer comfort but not so close that it felt suffocating. "Hey, Ella," I replied, my voice gentle. "How are you holding up?"

Ella took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. "I don't know, Kyle," she admitted, her voice quivering. "I never thought I'd have to say goodbye to Mom so soon. It's just... it's all so hard."

I put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "I know, Ella. I miss her too. But remember, we still have each other."

Tears welled up in Ella's eyes again, and she buried her face in my shoulder. "I wish I had her strength, Kyle. I wish I had her powers."

I held her tighter, trying to convey all the love and reassurance I could in that embrace. "Ella, you don't need powers to be strong. You have your own unique strengths, your kindness, your resilience. Mom loved you just the way you are."

Ella nodded, her sobs gradually subsiding. "I know you're right, Kyle. It's just hard not to feel helpless."

"I get it," I said softly. "But remember, we're a team. We'll get through this together. And I promise, I'll always be here for you."

Ella looked up at me, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you, Kyle," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "I'm so glad we're talking again."

A small, genuine smile formed on her lips, and it warmed my heart. "Me too, Ella," I replied, returning her smile. "You know, Mom always said that we're like yin and yang, two halves of a whole. We complement each other."

Ella's eyes brightened a little at the mention of our mother. "She did, didn't she? She said we balance each other out."

The conversation continued a bit longer sharing lovely memories of our mother until Ella stood up saying that she wanted to go rest , so I let her and I also stood up ready to face my father.

As I approached the door to my father's studio, my hand poised to grip the handle, I suddenly caught wind of the conversation on the other side. It was my father's voice, and he sounded tense and agitated.

"Yes, Morana," his voice carried a sense of urgency, "I understand the gravity of the situation. We can't afford any more chaos. The factions are on edge, and the last thing we need is a rebellion."

Morana's response was unclear, but my curiosity got the better of me. I leaned closer to the door, straining to catch every word, my fingers just inches from the handle.

"Look," my father continued, frustration evident in his tone, "I know you've been doing your best to help me keep things under control, and I appreciate it. But we can't ignore the fact that some factions are already starting to doubt our leadership."

There was a brief pause as Morana spoke, her voice low and concerned. "Ahan, you need to show strength. The chaos that's been happening lately... it's making people question your ability to lead." As I eavesdropped on my father's conversation with Morana, it became apparent that their discussion was far from over. Their voices grew louder, and their words more impassioned.

"Morana, you have to understand the delicate situation we're in," my father's voice was strained. "I can't afford to alienate the factions any further. We need their support, especially now."

Morana's response was sharp, her tone unyielding. "Ahan, your attempts at appeasement only make you appear weak. You must assert your authority, show them who's in charge. Chaos can be controlled, but only if you're willing to take decisive action."

The tension in the room was palpable even through the closed door. My father sighed, a heavy, burdened sound. "Morana, I appreciate your counsel, but I can't risk further unrest. We've already lost so much."

Morana's voice took on a hard edge. "You've always been too soft, Ahan. You let emotions cloud your judgment. The chaos faction needs a strong leader, not one who cowers in the face of adversity."

Their words echoed in my ears, and I struggled to understand the depths of their conversation. What was this chaos they spoke of, and why was it causing such division among the factions?

My father's tone shifted, sounding defeated. "I've lost Aurelia, Morana. I won't risk losing my children as well. We need unity, not more chaos."

Morana's response was cold and unwavering. "Unity, Ahan, can be achieved through strength and unwavering leadership. Chaos is a force to be harnessed, not feared. It's time to take control."

"Sorry, Morana," he said with a tone that betrayed the tension in the call. "I'll speak to you later. I have some other business I need to attend to right now."

His voice hung in the air for a moment before he quickly ended the call. Our eyes met through the partially door that had just opened while I was leaning on it , and a wave of guilt washed over me for eavesdropping. But it seemed inevitable that our confrontation was imminent.

My father noticed my presence and motioned for me to enter, his expression guarded. I pushed the door open, stepping into the spacious studio, the air heavy with the scent of old books and polished wood. 

"Kyle," he said " I was just waiting for you."

I stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind me. There was no turning back now.

My father's voice wavered as he tried to regain his composure. " So we have this event next week, and I need both you and your sister to attend with me. It will show the factions that we're united, that we're committed to preserving the peace your mother worked so hard for."

He continued, listing a slew of upcoming meetings, events, and gatherings. His voice droned on as he spoke about the intricacies of faction politics, the delicate alliances he needed to maintain, and the threats posed by dissenting factions. Each word felt like a weight on my chest, an acknowledgment of the life I was expected to lead, one I had long resented.

I listened in silence, my thoughts a storm of bitterness and frustration. Or at least it looked like I was listening. The events and meetings blurred into one indistinct buzz in my ears. My father had spent years absorbed in his political pursuits, and now, when he needed assistance, he beckoned me and Ella to step into the chaos he had created.

As he spoke, my gaze remained locked on him, my eyes cold and unforgiving. He then finally fell silent, his expression a mixture of hope and apprehension. He waited for my response, his eyes searching mine for any sign of cooperation.

"I need your help, Kyle," he said finally, his voice tinged with an unusual vulnerability.

I watched him with a mix of irritation and disbelief. The nerve of the man to seek assistance after all that had transpired.

"My help?" I replied, my voice a cold and measured whisper. "Just like you helped Mother?"

The room seemed to tighten around us, and my father's eyes faltered for a moment. But he pressed on, determined or oblivious.

"Kyle, it's not just about your mother," he explained, his tone pleading. "The city is teetering on the edge, and I fear that if we don't act, the factions will descend into chaos."

I could feel anger bubbling up inside me, threatening to break free. I had endured his arrogance and neglect for too long.

"So, now you want me to clean up the mess you've made?" I retorted sharply, unable to contain my bitterness.

My father sighed, the lines on his face deepening with frustration. "Kyle, please understand. This isn't about blame. It's about saving our city and preserving your mother's legacy."

His words struck a nerve, invoking the memory of the woman he had failed, and it fueled my anger further. I stared at him, my eyes narrowed and my voice laced with scorn.

"Preserving Mother's legacy," I echoed, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Dragging her grieving children into your political games—now, that's a fitting tribute."

The room fell silent, a suffocating tension settling in as my father struggled to find words to respond to my seething contempt. His confidence had crumbled, and in that moment, I knew I had pushed him to a breaking point.

My father paused for a moment after my reluctant agreement, but it was as if my response barely registered. Instead, he moved on, intent on his own agenda.

"We also need to talk about what happened at the mansion," he said, his tone hardening even more."You should have never slapped me in front of everyone, you know how that looked, Kyle."

His words hit me like a slap in the face, and my anger flared even brighter.

"You think I care how it looked?" I retorted, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I care about how it felt, about how you've treated us all these years."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously. I couldn't let my father see me cry.

"You've missed so much, Dad," I continued, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. My father remained silent, his expression unreadable. It was infuriating how he could maintain his composure while I was unraveling. "And where were you when Mom needed you the most?" I demanded, my voice breaking. "You were off playing politician, making deals, and securing alliances. You never cared about us, about her. All you cared about was your power and your position."

My father finally broke his silence, his voice calm but firm. "Kyle, I have a role to play in this family, in our society. Responsibilities that I need to fulfill."

I stared at him incredulously, my anger flaring once more. "Responsibilities?" I spat out the word. "You think that's what matters? Responsibilities and appearances?"

I could see my father trying to defend himself, but I didn't give him the chance. The floodgates of my emotions had burst open, and I couldn't stop the torrent of words pouring out.

"You care so much about appearances that you haven't even checked up on Ella," I accused him. "In one night, she not only endured her biggest disappointment ever because of not being able to show her powers, something she feels very insecure about, but she also lost her mother. And where were you? You haven't spoken to her the past few weeks basically if not to organise this stupid funeral, that feels more like a political meeting"

My father attempted to interrupt me, but I wouldn't let him.

"Don't even try to deny it," I snapped, my voice trembling with anger and frustration. "You've always been more interested in your political career than in your own family. You care more about your precious image than you do about us."

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, but I didn't care. My father's expression remained unreadable, and for a moment, I thought he might actually feel some remorse.

But then he spoke, his voice like ice. "I wish you wouldn't say such hurtful things, Kyle."

I couldn't believe his audacity. "Hurtful?" I seethed. "You think my words are hurtful? Well, here's something even more hurtful for you. I wish you would have died instead."

As soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted them. The anger that had fueled me suddenly drained away, leaving only emptiness and guilt in its wake. I watched as my father's expression turned from ice-cold to one of sheer devastation.

Without saying another word, my father gestured for me to leave the room. I hesitated, desperate to apologize, to take back the words that had caused so much pain. But before I could even utter a single word, my father's voice roared through the room.

"Go!" he screamed.

I turned and left the room, my heart heavy with regret. I had gone too far this time. I had wounded my father in a way that words could never heal.

As I walked away, I couldn't help but glance back through the partially open door. What I saw shook me to my core. My father, the strong and imposing governor, was hunched over, tears streaming down his face. In his trembling hands, he clutched a picture of my mother. I could hear his broken voice as he muttered to himself, "What did I do wrong?"

Seeing my father in such a vulnerable state was almost unbearable. He was still a man, beneath the façade of power and authority. He was still a husband who had lost his beloved wife.

With a heavy heart, I turned away and headed to my room. The weight of the evening's events bore down on me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had irreparably damaged my relationship with my father. The man who had always been a figure of strength and authority now seemed fragile and broken.

As I lay in bed, the guilt gnawed at me. I knew I had to find a way to make amends, to mend the rift that had grown between us. But for now, all I could do was close my eyes and hope for a better tomorrow.