Chapter 5 - The Shadow of the Past
Two weeks before the broadcast, an unexpected ghost from the past tried to drag me back down.
I was walking out of the university library late at night when a familiar voice called out across the concrete plaza.
"Henry? Is that really you?"
I stopped, my boots crunching on the thin layer of frost dusting the pavement. I turned slowly. Standing near a parked sedan with its headlights cutting through the freezing mist was my mother.
She looked older than she had a year ago. The lines around her eyes were deeper, her coat wrapped tightly around her frame as if she couldn't quite shake a chill. She took a hesitant step toward me, her face a complicated mixture of shock, relief, and deep, ingrained irritation.
"What are you doing here, Mom?" I asked. My voice didn't waver. It was flat, carrying the temperature of the winter night.
She stopped a few feet away, her arms crossing defensively over her chest—the classic posture she always assumed when she was about to lecture me. "What am I doing here? That’s my line! Do you have any idea how much worry you've caused? Your father and I have spent the last twelve months wondering if you were dead in a ditch, and you couldn't even pick up the phone to let us know you were breathing?"
A dry, humourless laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. "Worry? You didn't even notice I was gone until the group chat photos made it awkward, Mom. And even then, your only concern was whether I’d show up to ruin Emily's parties."
"That is completely unfair!" she snapped, her voice rising, carrying into the quiet night air. "You've always been so dramatic, Henry. So bitter and resentful just because Emily had a few more opportunities handed to her. We gave you a roof over your head for twenty-three years! We fed you, we clothed you, and you threw a childish tantrum because you didn't get enough presents under the tree last year!"
I stared at her, genuinely amazed by the sheer Olympic-level mental gymnastics required to re-write reality so thoroughly.
"Is that what you told the extended family?" I asked softly. "Is that the story you tell yourselves to sleep at night?"
"We told them the truth," she said, her chin lifting with defensive pride. "That you were ungrateful. That you couldn't handle the responsibilities of being an adult, so you ran away like a coward. But... your father and I are willing to let bygones be bygones. It’s the holidays, Henry. Emily is asking about you. We're willing to let you come home for Christmas dinner tomorrow night—if you apologize for the way you acted."
I felt a profound, heavy wave of pity wash over me. She truly believed she was doing me a favor. She still viewed me as the broken, dependent child who would crawl back on hands and knees for the mere privilege of sitting at the kids' table while Emily held court.
"No thanks, Mom," I said, turning my collar up against the biting wind.
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me? Are you out of your mind? Do you know how humiliating it is for us when people ask where our oldest son is, and we have to tell them you abandoned your family?"
"Well, you won't have to lie much longer," I said, giving her a calm, chilling smile. "You're going to see me very soon. On television."
Before she could demand an explanation, I turned my back on her and walked toward the subway entrance, my boots echoing sharply against the frozen stone.
May you like
"Henry! Henry, get back here!" her voice faded into the distance behind me.
I didn't look back. I descended the concrete stairs into the subterranean warmth of the station, knowing full well that the bridge between us hadn't just been burned—it had been detonated with charges.
