Lahat ng Kabanata ng On My Own: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Seeing my grief-stricken father standing beside me, I stopped Clara Jennings. “For Dad’s sake, can you at least stay until the funeral is over? Please?”Ethan Dunn grabbed her coat. Clara didn’t even bother to look up.“Peter, this case is very important. I’ll make it up to you later.”Make it up to me? When she forgot my birthday and went to take a walk along the riverbank with Ethan, she said she would make it up to me. When I had appendicitis surgery and she abandoned me to celebrate Ethan winning gold at a major competition, she said she would make it up to me. And now, when I had just lost my mother and needed her the most, she was still using that same line to brush me off.In our three years together, I had received far too many of her promises, yet not a single one had ever come true.Ethan glanced at me with a hint of pity in his eyes. “Forget it, maybe we should stay and keep Peter company, and leave after the funeral is over.”Clara sighed, gave in with a smile, and

Dad sensed that something was off with me and asked what was wrong.I forced down the panic and bitterness in my chest. “I’m fine, Dad.”In the courtroom, opposing counsel presented their arguments, smoothly citing statutes and legal precedents. When it was our turn, I had to step up alone.This was my first time in court, and my legal knowledge had been rusting away for years. I forced myself to speak, my voice trembling with nerves. The opposing counsel watched me as if I were a joke.During the recess, Clara’s phone finally went through. The background noise was loud, filled with the clinking of glasses and party chatter.“Peter? It’s pretty noisy on my end. Hold on a second.”I shook with anger. “Clara Jennings! The hearing is over. Where is Mark? And where are you?”“Ethan was promoted to senior partner today and insisted on dragging me out to celebrate. I couldn’t get away. What about Mark–” She paused, seemingly remembering something.Trying to cover her tracks, she adde

When Clara got off work, it was already late at night, and the office was deserted.When she pushed open the door to our home, the place was pitch-black. The dim, warm lamp usually kept on every night for her was somehow switched off.She called out softly, “Peter?” However, the only response was a hollow echo.Tugging at her tie, she muttered under her breath, “Here you go again, huh? How annoying.”In our three years together, every time I kicked up a fuss, I would always come back within three days.When she forgot my birthday, I accepted her offer to make it up to me with a nice dinner at a restaurant Ethan recommended, which she thought was pretty good.When she missed my appendicitis surgery, she promised to make it up to me, saying she was just too busy. However, she quickly forgot all about it.I never said anything more after that, and coincidentally, I never got sick again in front of her. So, she assumed this time would be no different.What she failed to notice, h

Meanwhile, I was back in my home city. Dad pulled out Mom’s belongings that he hadn’t had time to sort out. His hair had turned gray overnight after Mom’s passing. He had forced himself to hold it together and sort out Mom’s funeral all by himself. Yet, it wasn’t until the day of the funeral that Clara finally showed her face for the first time since Mom died.Dad put on his reading glasses, his hands trembling slightly as he held the storage box.“Peter, you know more about these things than I do. Clean up your mom’s stuff for me. I don’t really understand any of it.”I looked at the three cardboard boxes that Mom had left behind. Right on top was a yellowed photograph. It was a picture of me as a child, sitting in Mom’s lap. Tears welled up in my eyes again, and I quickly wiped them away in secret.When I reached the bottom of the last box, I found an envelope lying there. I opened it, and inside was actually a photocopy of a bank transfer record.Three days before the inciden

The day I returned to the big city, the sun was shining bright—a stark contrast to the afternoon of torrential rain when I had left. This time, my suitcase was packed with neatly organized evidence.Beyond that initial transfer record, I had obtained the call logs between the reckless driver and the developer’s project manager, along with surveillance photos showing the two meeting before the incident. I also secured a crucial witness statement: an audio recording of the developer’s accountant privately admitting that the boss had authorized the money transfer.The driver’s henchman, however, wasn’t nearly as clever as the developer or the driver. I offered him a generous sum, and he spilled everything. When the application for a retrial was submitted, the court approved it.On the day of the hearing, I sat in the plaintiff’s seat, no longer as shaken as I had been during the previous trials. I had tried to persuade Dad not to come, but he insisted on sitting in the very front row.