He walked right past my pillar, his eyes sliding over me like I was part of the furniture. Then he stopped. I saw the moment recognition hit—not warmth, not joy. Annoyance.He stepped away from his circle of admirers and leaned in close. His breath reeked of expensive scotch and something rotten underneath.

“Try not to eat too much, Thomas,” he whispered, smile plastered on his face for anyone watching. “We’re paying per head. Frankly, you’re not worth the plate.”I met his eyes. I could see the broken blood vessels in his nose. The fear he was hiding behind all that arrogance. He was drowning, and he didn’t even know it.

“Good evening, Father,” I said quietly.“Don’t call me that here.” His smile never wavered, but his voice was pure venom. “You’re a guest. Barely. You’re lucky Michael insisted on inviting you. If it were up to me, you’d still be rotting in whatever gutter you crawled into after you ran away.”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. I just watched him walk away.He had no idea I owned that plate he was talking about. I owned the table. The wine he was drinking. The roof over his head.
I was here for Michael. My little brother. He was ten when I left—when I was kicked out. He’s the only one who stayed in touch over the years. Secret emails. Updates about his life. Today he was marrying Sophia, and I’d actually flown in from overseas just to be here.

I liked Sophia. Met her once. She had this look in her eyes—like she could see right through people’s bullshit.Across the room, the photographer started gathering people for the family portrait. Michael saw me and his whole face lit up. He waved me over, mouthing “Come on!”I hesitated. I wasn’t really part of this family anymore. I was a ghost they couldn’t quite get rid of.
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