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Chapter 8
I returned to the Weber family again. Dilan was sitting on the couch, sighing heavily, with the house in disarray.
“What are you back for, you ungrateful wretch, disaster bringer? If you hadn’t brought Homer back, none of this would have happened!” Dilan yelled at me as soon as he saw me.
I ignored him and took out my phone to snap a few pictures.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m selling the house. I need to take pictures for the listing.”
“You dare!” Dilan charged at me to snatch
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the phone, but I grabbed his wrist and pushed him away.
“Why wouldn’t I dare? This house is in my name.” I pulled out the deed, and the homeowner’s name was mine.
“I’m your father. You can’t do anything without consulting me!” Dilan fumed.
I sneered in contempt. “Do you even deserve that?”
“Do you really think I don’t know you and Yamila teamed up to kill my mother?”
Dilan’s face went pale. “How do you
you know?” He quickly changed his tune. “You’re talking nonsense. I didn’t do that.”
Back then, he had an affair with Yamila, who worked as a maid, and when my mother had
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a heart attack, he refused to take her to the hospital, leaving her to die.
The mistress moved in, took my mother’s place, and abused me while my father turned a blind eye.
Yamila thought I was too young to understand, and several times, she secretly conspired with Dilan to have me ‘accidentally die, even bringing up my mother’s death.
Though they didn’t succeed in killing me, I’ve never forgotten it.
“It wasn’t me. I never wanted to kill your mother. I tried to save her, but Yamila wouldn’t let me call the police. She stopped me,” Dilan shook his head, desperately explaining.
“Wasn’t it because you were afraid my
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mother would divorce you and leave you with nothing?” I exposed Dilan’s lie.
“No, it wasn’t like that. I was deceived by Yamila. You have to believe me, I’m your father!”
I nodded. “You were indeed deceived by Yamila. You’re kind to Isana because you think she’s your daughter, right?”
Dilan stood frozen in shock.
I pulled out a piece of paper–the paternity test between him and Isana.
“Yamila didn’t just work as our maid. The mistress of another family fired her after discovering she was seducing her husband, and caused a scene at Yamila’s hometown. Later, Yamila got pregnant and came to you. You were the one she chose to take her on.”
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“This isn’t true,” Dilan shook his head, refusing to look at the report.
I slapped the report onto his face.
Dilan gasped, suddenly attempting to get up but collapsing instead, gasping for air. He reached out to me. “Save… me.”
I picked up my phone, and Dilan’s eyes lit up.
But I didn’t call. I just watched Dilan in silence.
A strange sensation overtook me, a feeling that my mother must have once begged him like this to save her, but she never got that chance.
And neither would he.
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When his gaze became filled with
hopelessness and he couldn’t utter a word, I finally dialed 120.
“The patient was severely stressed, and the prolonged unconsciousness has caused serious damage to his physical functions. He will be bedridden for the rest of his life.”
I relayed the doctor’s words to Dilan, then walked away, leaving him to die in his despairing and resentful gaze.
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