Callum had no choice but to move forward at a slow pace, lowering himself into a chair. Without a word, he picked up a piece of beef and placed it in his mouth. The meat had been stewed to perfection—tender, richly flavored, seasoned just right. It practically melted on his tongue.

  "Dad, does it still taste the way you like?" Clementine asked, watching him closely. "I remember you always liked beef."

  Callum swallowed, then snorted. "You’ve been away for years, but at least you’ve learned something useful."

  Clementine's face lit up instantly. "Eat more if you like it."

  Dinner carried on in peaceful silence, the warmth of a home-cooked meal filling the space.

  After the meal, Clarissa noticed Callum sitting in the living room, absorbed in a game of chess.

  She walked over with a playful smile. "Mr. Callum, let me play with you."

  Callum glanced up, unimpressed. "Do you even know how?"

  "A little."

  His brows lifted, intrigued. "Sit."

  Clarissa took her seat, stealing a quick glance at his face before making her first move. "Mr. Callum, the medicine you gave my mom seems to be working well."

  He studied the board, then smirked. "Why? You want to learn?"

  "I’d probably be too stupid to understand it. You’d just call me an idiot."

  Callum snorted. "You are very thick-skinned, are you afraid of me calling you stupid?" He made his move with practiced ease. "A doctor who can’t treat himself is useless."

  Clarissa’s fingers hesitated over her next move. His words struck something in her memory—her grandmother, dying in childbirth. Callum had been performing surgery on someone else at the time.

  She looked up and met his gaze. His sharp eyes narrowed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Nothing, Mr. Callum." She smiled sweetly, placing her next piece. "You’re an incredible player. I’m about to lose."

  Callum leaned in to study the board—then his expression darkened.

  With just one more move, he would win. Realizing this, he huffed, tossed the black piece onto the board, and stood up abruptly. "Enough! I’m done!"

  Then, without another word, he stalked off toward his room. Clementine walked over, watching Callum’s retreating figure. "Clarissa… did you make Grandpa angry?"

  Clarissa grinned. "No, we were just playing chess."

  ......

  Atticus walked through the front door just as dinner was ending.

  The table was a mess—plates nearly licked clean, scraps of food scattered across surfaces. Only a few wilted vegetable stems remained.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  James looked up when he saw him. There was a slight hesitation before he spoke. "Atticus, you’re back. Jasper said he was hungry, and you weren’t home, so—"

  Before he could finish, his wife cut in. "It’s not a big deal if you don’t eat," Naomi said dismissively, not even looking at Atticus. "If you’re that hungry, there’s some old bread left from yesterday. Take it if you want."

  At the other end of the table, Jasper was still stuffing his face, his fingers greasy from the rich, saucy beef. He didn’t even glance up. "Mom, this beef is so good. Make me another plate tomorrow." His forehead was dotted with acne, his mouth full as he chewed.

  Atticus didn’t respond. Didn’t react. He just turned and walked straight to his room, shutting the door behind him.

  "Room" was a generous word for what it was. It was a storage space—dusty, cramped, barely livable. The old, patched quilt on his bed was stiff and worn. The thin mat underneath had faded from years of washing.

  In the dining room, James watched Atticus’s retreating figure, sighed, looking toward Naomi. "He’s still my brother’s child… You don’t have to be so harsh with him."

  Naomi’s expression twisted. "Harsh? Are you serious?"

  "If I hadn’t listened to your family’s nonsense, we wouldn’t even be in this mess."

  "They said taking him in would mean getting thousands of dollars in government support every month. And what do we actually get? Barely two thousand!"

  "That’s nothing! We have to feed him, house him, pay for his damn school—tell me, James, where’s the benefit? Keeping that jinx around is nothing but a loss."

  Jasper, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, scoffed. "She’s right. He’s cursed—he killed his parents."

  Naomi let out a scoffed laugh. "Exactly. And look at him—does he even look like your brother’s kid? No way. I bet that woman of his was messing around with some other man. You’re an idiot for taking him in."

  "That’s enough," James snapped, irritation creeping into his tone. He shoveled the last of his rice into his mouth and stood abruptly. "Do whatever the hell you want."

  Naomi muttered something under her breath, but he ignored it.

  Jasper leaned back in his chair, smirking. He was three years older than Atticus. Mediocre grades. Mediocre looks.

  But Atticus—Atticus was at the top of his class. Even worse, the girl Jasper liked had a crush on him. That alone was enough to fuel his resentment.

  Since he couldn’t beat Atticus with his brains, he used his height—always getting a few guys to corner him at school, trying to push him around.

  But the bastard was smart. Always slipped away before they could land a real hit. Jasper gritted his teeth just thinking about it.

  And now, seeing him retreat to that tiny storage room without a word? It pissed him off even more.

  Inside the house, Atticus sat on a worn-out cardboard box in the dimly lit storage room, listening to the conversation outside.

  His fingers traced the thick envelope in his hands, lingering over the familiar signature on it.

  Simple words. Clarissa.

  He had never once opened it since she handed it to him. For a long moment, he just sat there, lost in thought. Then, pulling out his phone from his bag, he dialed a number. "Hello. I need you to do something for me."

  .....

  Days passed...

  Callum never told them to leave. Clarissa and Clementine settled in.

  Not only that, but Callum even had a small house next door cleaned up for Clarissa to live in. Clarissa quickly realized something about him—he was the type of person who said one thing but meant another.

  Clementine saw it too. "Your grandfather actually likes you," she said one evening.

  And honestly, how could he not? His granddaughter was beautiful, intelligent, and full of life.

  Clarissa had wanted to renovate the house, but Callum shut her down immediately.

  "Don’t touch anything. I don’t need any of that nonsense. If you have nothing better to do, just leave. You’re noisy every damn day." He repeated some version of those words almost daily.

  At first, Clarissa and Clementine had been on edge, worried about overstepping and irritating him. But over time, they got used to his gruffness.

  Despite all his complaining, he always finished every meal they cooked, grumbling the whole time about how much of a hassle Clarissa was. And yet, every now and then, she’d find new things appearing in her room. A warm blanket. A lamp.

  "Mom," Clarissa said one night, watching her grandfather from afar. "He’s actually a really good person, isn’t he?"

  Clementine sighed softly. "I used to think he hated me. That he looked down on me. But now… I realize how blind and foolish I was."

  Because at the end of the day, the people who truly care about you? They’re your family.

  Even if they don’t always say it, even if they push you away with harsh words—family will never abandon you.