Book The Son Novels & Stories

"You need to come home. Your father is dying." He should have said no, and ended the call, or thrown the phone across his pathetic studio apartment, and pretended he had never heard those words. Five years ago, Patriarch Michael Thorne had stood in the grand hall of the family estate and declared his eldest son dead to the Holy Order, dead to God, and dead to the bloodline that stretched back twelve generations of exorcists. Gabriel had been seventeen, broken, and desperate for understanding that never came.

“I don’t have a fucking clue.” A winded breath scraped from Booker, his hand resting weakly on Jon’s firm shoulder. “Well, you had better get a clue, son. You killed his brother. He ain’t gon’ give ya up that easily, and I’d hate to see that girl in the firin’ line. She doesn’t belong with us.”

"The book, please. Let's not make a mess here." "Where is my son?" I demanded, my own voice a low growl. "He is our guest," he replied. "His well-being is directly proportional to your cooperation. The book. Now." He thought he had me. He had a gun. He had my son's life as a bargaining chip. He was playing a game of leverage. I was not playing a game. My eyes darted around the alley. A rusted fire escape. A dumpster. A pile of discarded wooden pallets.

Jean asked warily, “Who are you? What business do you have with Graham?” “Don’t be alarmed. I’m here on behalf of my boss. The boy has a heart of gold. His mother suffered from kidney failure a year ago and didn’t have money for the treatment, so Graham deliberately had his left thumb sliced off with the factory machine. The boss offered him 200 grand as compensation, but he refused, saying that 150 grand was enough. The boss asked around and realized that the boy did it to save his mother. “The boss also came from a single-parent household, so he has mad respect for tight-knit families. When he heard that Graham got into college, he sent me here to offer him sponsorship for tuition and livi

he ordered. "Yes sir!" The secretary bowed her head obediently. Fake Alberto comes into his room. Sean raised his head as soon as they left, and he continued his work quickly. His phone rang and Sean opened it. Message from Mommy. [Daddy has sent some money, come immediately to the orphanage and the free school] My Mom. [OK, Mom, thank you! I love you! Muachh] Lerina smiled reading her son's reply. [Mommy too, take care of yourself, honey! Muachh] My Mom.

"I've got nothing left. The restaurant's gone, and I'm a hundred grand in debt from that hotel lease. You still want to call me 'mom'?" He hesitated for a split second. "Money or no money, you're still my mom! I'll find a job soon, and I'll help pay it all off!" I pushed the door open wider. "Fine. Come in." If he was really sincere, I'd see soon enough. Or maybe he had another angle—only one way to find out. Back at the old house, Henry played the role of devoted son perfectly. He handled every chore, cooked, and left at dawn each day to "look for work." Honestly, he seemed like a different person.

I told him frankly that this would likely be the last time he saw his father. Oscar's response surprised me. He refused firmly without hesitation. "He's not my father. A father like him isn't worth remembering at all." I nodded in agreement and pulled him into a hug. It seemed my son had matured from this ordeal.

Veronica started with her son. "Didn't you see what you did? Poor Sandra. You can see her that she can hardly breath. Where did you get that whore?! In the club?! In the street?!” Veronica agrily said to his son. “Come on Arnaldo, we know you are against our desire to marry Sandra but for God's sake, since your sister Angela disappeared you know I love Sandra just like your sister. I don't want Sandra to get hurt because of your nonsense?" She continued. "Veronica, Honey! Your heart ! (Arnaldo’s father calmly said) Let your son explain his side so we know what his real reason for that bringing that woman in his room" Gener calmed down his wife for being in high tension

Thicker than I remembered. I tore the brown paper open. And found a book. Not just any book. A small, leather-bound journal. Worn edges. Faded cover. My chest tightened. My fingers trembled as I flipped it open. The handwriting… My father’s. “Ian,” I whispered, and for the first time in months, something inside me cracked open. I sank to my knees. It was like holding a relic, something sacred. My thumb traced the lines on the first page. "Today, my son cried for the first time. He didn’t wail—he growled. The healer laughed and said he’ll grow into a fine Alpha."

She explained that a little boy had seen Sofia's smartwatch background and insisted the person on it was his mother. While arguing, he tried to grab Sofia's smartwatch, and a fight ensued. Sofia stopped writing and packed her bag as soon as she saw me. Seeing her unharmed and collected, I felt relieved. Suddenly, a figure pounced on me, calling "Mom" repeatedly. Sofia frowned, pulling the boy away. "Ew, you got snot on my mom's dress." I finally recognized the boy as Jamie, my son, though he'd grown taller and lost his front teeth. He pointed at me, his eyes swollen but determined. "She's my mom! Give her back to me!"