Chapter 2: New Found Life...

“No!! I will take him!! He will be in my custody!” a woman yelled, her voice shrill and desperate.

“Ohh… shut up, Margaret,” another voice cut in, deeper and louder. “I am his late mother’s elder brother, so I will take him.”

It was supposed to be a family meeting, but it looked more like a market fight. Voices clashed, faces twisted with anger, and greed filled the air like a stench.

Sixteen-year-old Arden sat there, blankly staring at the floor. His hands rested on his knees, and he said nothing as the argument raged around him. His heart was too heavy to care. His parents were gone. His life had ended the day they died. Yet here he was, forced to watch relatives fight—not for him, but for what he represented.

One might think they were fighting because they cared. But Arden saw through it. He saw the way their eyes glistened whenever the lawyer mentioned the word inheritance. He saw the way their voices rose, not out of concern for him, but out of hunger for what his parents left behind.

Arden’s lips pressed together. He didn’t even have the strength to cry.

He was sixteen. Still a boy. Legally, he could not take over the inheritance. That was why they were fighting—to decide who would control what was left until he turned eighteen.

The lawyer, a tired-looking man with glasses perched low on his nose, finally cleared his throat. The sound cut through the noise like a gavel.

“Everyone, calm down. The custody has already been decided.”

At once, all heads turned to him. The shouting slowed, and the room grew quiet. The lawyer glanced at Arden briefly before continuing.

“Everyone has already received their share of the inheritance. What remains is Mr. Arden’s portion. Because he is underage, he will need someone to care for it until he turns eighteen. And that person—” He paused, glancing at his notes. “—will be no other than his uncle, Mr. Curtis.”

The lawyer directed his hand toward a man who had been sitting quietly all along. Curtis, Arden’s uncle, leaned back in his chair with a small smile.

Arden raised his head for the first time that day. Relief washed over him. If it had to be anyone, he was glad it was Uncle Curtis. Out of all the relatives, Curtis had been the only one close to his parents. He used to visit them often, bring gifts, and even play with Arden when he was younger. Arden’s heart eased a little. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.

The lawyer continued, finishing the formalities, but Arden barely heard him. His mind clung to that small comfort: At least it’s Uncle Curtis.

~~~~~~~~

The meeting ended. Relatives took their shares of the inheritance, their faces full of satisfaction. Some whispered behind Arden’s back as they left, but he ignored them. He quietly packed his small bag, ready to leave with his uncle.

The journey to Curtis’s house took several hours. Arden sat in the car beside his uncle, staring out the window as the world blurred past. He expected his uncle to talk, to console him, maybe even remind him that everything would be okay. But Curtis said nothing. Not a single word.

He didn’t even smile.

Arden noticed, of course. He noticed how the man who once ruffled his hair and teased him about school now drove with a stiff jaw and cold eyes. But Arden didn’t give it much thought. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he’s sad too. We all lost them.

By the time they arrived, the sky was dark.

Curtis’s home stood tall in another town—a larger house than Arden expected, with high walls and an iron gate. The lights from inside glowed faintly through the windows. Arden followed his uncle inside, his small bag slung over his shoulder.

The smell of cooked stew filled the air, mixed with the faint scent of polish on the tiled floor. Arden paused at the entrance, taking it in.

Then a woman appeared. Mabel, Curtis’s wife. She approached, smiling faintly at her husband, but when her eyes landed on Arden, her face shifted. Her expression tightened, displeasure flickering across it.

Arden noticed. But he said nothing. He had already seen that look many times from her.

At the far corner of the living room, two boys sat on the couch. One was around Arden’s age. The other looked a little older.

The younger one glanced up and frowned immediately. His eyes narrowed as he scanned Arden from head to toe.

“What’s he doing here?” the boy asked bluntly. His voice carried no welcome, only irritation.

“You know what happened to him,” Curtis replied. His tone was even, matter-of-fact. “So he will be staying with us from now on.”

The boy groaned loudly. “Dad, I need my privacy. I won’t share my room with anyone else.”

“Daylen,” Curtis said firmly, addressing his younger son.

Arden realized then—this was Daylen, Curtis’s son, his cousin. Arden had met him once or twice before but never spent much time with him.

The older boy, Derek, stayed silent, though his expression wasn’t much better. He simply leaned back and crossed his arms, observing.

Mabel quickly joined the conversation. “Yes, dear. My boys are growing. We can’t inconvenience them because of another person’s child.” Her tone dripped with disdain.

Curtis turned to Arden. His eyes were sharp now, not like the gentle uncle Arden once knew.

“You heard them, right?” Curtis said. His voice carried authority. “The only room available is the store room.”

Arden’s eyes widened. “What? Store room? Why?”

“Because there is no room available, alright?” Curtis snapped.

Arden’s lips trembled. “Okay… but what about a bed? Even a bed sheet?”

Mabel let out a laugh. A mocking one. She shook her head as if Arden had just said the most ridiculous thing.

“Do I look like I have money?” Curtis said, glaring.

Arden’s heart pounded. “But… what about my inheritance? You could get money out of it and get me a bed.”

The words had barely left his mouth when—

Slap!

Curtis’s hand struck his cheek. Arden gasped, his head snapping to the side. His face burned.

Slap! Another one followed quickly, harder than the first.

Curtis leaned close, his eyes cold. “Must I remind you, boy, that you are under my control now? You want to sleep on a bed?” He let out a sharp laugh. “I don’t blame you. Your dead parents never taught you right. You will sleep in that store room, and that will be your official room. And if you can’t make do with it, then get back out on the street!”

His voice rose into a yell, echoing in the room. He shoved Arden hard, and the boy stumbled, falling to the ground.

Tears welled in Arden’s eyes as he held his stinging cheek. He looked up at Mabel, but she only laughed. Daylen smirked. Derek shook his head and walked away.

They all turned and left him there.

Arden slowly stood up, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. His small bag felt heavier now. He walked quietly towards the storeroom, his legs weak, until he reached the store room.

He opened the door.

The smell hit him first—dust, dampness, and something rotten. A rat scurried across the floor, disappearing into a dark corner.

Arden froze, staring at the unkempt room. Old boxes piled against the wall, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, broken furniture pushed aside. The floor was dirty, the air suffocating.

He stepped inside, his chest tightening. His hand shook as he closed the door behind him.

Arden dropped his bag on the floor and stood there silently. His eyes moved around the room, taking it in. His heart sank deeper and deeper.

At that instant, he didn’t know how—or if—he would cope with his new life...