Delivering My Son's Ashes to His Father's Party - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
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Life was simple, yet overflowing with joy.
I adored children—playing with them, teaching them to read, guiding their little hands as they drew their first pictures. Nothing warmed my heart more than seeing their bright, beaming smiles. Every day, surrounded by their laughter, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment.
With the little I had, I could give these underprivileged kids something priceless: a happy childhood. A chance for their lives to take a turn for the better. It made me feel like I was making a difference. Like I mattered.
And at night, I could finally sleep in peace.
I loved it here. This was the life I wanted—one where I helped these children, and in return, they unknowingly pulled me out of my own darkness.
Just like that, six blissful months passed.
Then, one ordinary day, I stumbled upon a news headline about the Ford Group:
"Tyler Ford, President of Ford Group, Crushed by Grief Over Son's Death, Now Battling Terminal Illness—Has Refused Further Treatment."
The moment I read those words, my phone rang. An unknown number.
"Wendy... it's Tyler's mother."
Her voice was different—weak, strained, weighed down by exhaustion and sorrow. Gone was the commanding tone she'd always used with me.
"What do you want?" I kept my voice steady.
"Tyler... he's dying." A shaky breath. "He asked to see you. I'm not here to demand anything—just to beg. Please... will you come? One last time?"
Olivia Ford had never spoken to me like this before—no arrogance, no condescension. Just raw, desperate pleading.
When I didn't answer, she pressed on, her words slow and heavy.
"These past six months... he's been broken. Crying day and night. Calling out for you—for Charlie—in his sleep." A pause. "We failed you. All these years... I'm sorry. I don't expect forgiveness. But if there was ever any love between you and Tyler... please. Grant him this. The doctors say... he doesn't have long."
I adored children—playing with them, teaching them to read, guiding their little hands as they drew their first pictures. Nothing warmed my heart more than seeing their bright, beaming smiles. Every day, surrounded by their laughter, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment.
With the little I had, I could give these underprivileged kids something priceless: a happy childhood. A chance for their lives to take a turn for the better. It made me feel like I was making a difference. Like I mattered.
And at night, I could finally sleep in peace.
I loved it here. This was the life I wanted—one where I helped these children, and in return, they unknowingly pulled me out of my own darkness.
Just like that, six blissful months passed.
Then, one ordinary day, I stumbled upon a news headline about the Ford Group:
"Tyler Ford, President of Ford Group, Crushed by Grief Over Son's Death, Now Battling Terminal Illness—Has Refused Further Treatment."
The moment I read those words, my phone rang. An unknown number.
"Wendy... it's Tyler's mother."
Her voice was different—weak, strained, weighed down by exhaustion and sorrow. Gone was the commanding tone she'd always used with me.
"What do you want?" I kept my voice steady.
"Tyler... he's dying." A shaky breath. "He asked to see you. I'm not here to demand anything—just to beg. Please... will you come? One last time?"
Olivia Ford had never spoken to me like this before—no arrogance, no condescension. Just raw, desperate pleading.
When I didn't answer, she pressed on, her words slow and heavy.
"These past six months... he's been broken. Crying day and night. Calling out for you—for Charlie—in his sleep." A pause. "We failed you. All these years... I'm sorry. I don't expect forgiveness. But if there was ever any love between you and Tyler... please. Grant him this. The doctors say... he doesn't have long."
End of Delivering My Son's Ashes to His Father's Party Chapter 11. Continue reading Chapter 12 or return to Delivering My Son's Ashes to His Father's Party book page.