My Mom's Ten‑Year Test Killed My Dad

My mother, Eloise Ferguson, flinched. For a split second, something flickered in her eyes.

The crowd of reporters around us collectively sucked in a sharp breath. Camera shutters erupted in a frenzy.

Mom cared more about the Ferguson family's image than anything. She quickly regained her composure and said, "Mike, people are watching. Don't make jokes like that."

"Even if the bankruptcy was staged, I still made sure he had an inheritance. How could he not afford a grave?"

I stared at her in bewilderment.

After Mom's supposed death, my uncle Donald Ferguson kicked Dad and me out of the house. He said Mom had left us drowning in debt and made us sell everything we had.

How could there possibly be an inheritance?

Before I could speak, Uncle Donald grabbed my arm.

"Mike, I never thought you and your father would be so irresponsible with money. You burned through a fortune."

He shook his head in disappointment.

"But using something like this to make your mother feel guilty is going too far."

Then he turned to Mom with a helpless expression.

"See, El? Didn't I tell you? Walter has always been stubborn. He's deliberately making things difficult for you. You didn't believe me before we came. You kept insisting he was honest and simple."

"It's hard for people to adjust once they've grown accustomed to luxury. After enjoying the Ferguson family's wealth and status, how could he possibly endure hardship?"

Mom nodded in agreement.

"You've always had a sharp eye for people. Men know men best. I was right to listen to you and stop him from getting that promotion."

"After all, he only had what he had because he married me and took the Ferguson surname. A bit of suffering was the only way to remind him where he belonged."

My eyes widened.

My father, Walter Ferguson, had earned that promotion through sheer hard work. He was always the first person to arrive at work and the last to leave. Whenever there were holiday shifts or overtime, he was the one who volunteered.

I still remembered how happy he had been that day.

He had hugged me tightly and told me he'd gotten a promotion and a raise. He said we would never have to live in that basement apartment that leaked every time it rained.

But the very next day, he was fired.

The company falsely accused him of damaging equipment and demanded an enormous amount in compensation.

That was five years of his hard-earned savings.

The image of Dad wasting away from lung cancer flashed through my mind, and my eyes instantly turned red.

"Why?" I demanded. "Why would you do this to us?"

"If you hadn't done that, Dad wouldn't have had to work five jobs a day. He wouldn't have worked himself to death right here!"

My throat tightened. It felt as if my chest had been ripped apart, and with every breath, I tasted blood.

"We're all your family, aren't we? Why is Uncle Donald allowed to cover himself and his son in designer brands and take luxury trips abroad, while Dad and I weren't even allowed to live a normal life?"

Mom frowned.

"Your Uncle Donald grew up in the Ferguson family and was pampered from childhood. How can you compare yourselves to him?"

"I never realized your father was so petty and resentful."

The reporters around us kept taking pictures. The flashing lights made Mom squint.

"Enough. Tell your father to come out and stop all this nonsense. I'll apologize to him, okay? This has gone on long enough," she said.

"Then go, if you really mean it!" I roared.

My entire body shook uncontrollably as I hurled the worn police case closure report onto her expensive designer dress.

"Go down there and apologize to Dad!"