Chapter 4: Collapse and Resolve

The first to lose it was my birth brother, rough as a linebacker. He pushed through the crowd, his broad shoulders blocking everyone’s view.

His fists clenched, jaw locked. He looked like he was ready to tear the house apart.

"No, this is my family’s money! Our money!"

His voice boomed, echoing off the walls. The cameras whipped around, catching every angry twitch.

Suddenly, chaos broke out—a scuffle, shouting, and then I saw my dad slowly collapse.

The room spun. Shouts and flashes blurred together. My heart seized, panic flooding my chest.

Things spiraled out of control. The flashes were blinding. The crowd started to panic, voices rising.

People shoved, someone screamed, and I could barely breathe through the chaos.

I rushed forward, dropping to my knees by Dad, shooting a cold glare at my so-called brother. My hands shook.

My hands trembled as I reached for Dad, eyes locked on my brother. "What are you doing? If you want the money, you don’t have to start a fight in public. If you really wanted a reunion, is this what you’d do?"

My voice was icy, slicing through the noise. The cameras caught every word, every glare.

"I didn’t touch him! This old man is faking it, he’s faking..." He was like an angry bear. The scene was total chaos—no one would believe him.

He looked around, desperate, but no one came to his rescue. He was all bark, no bite.

"You jerk!" Seeing the cameras, birth father panicked. If this got out, how could they show their faces?

He rushed over and slapped his son twice, hard.

The smacks echoed. The crowd gasped. It was the first time I’d seen any real discipline from him.

"Worried about money? Not like this. You’ll always have food as long as I do."

His words sounded empty, but he looked around, hoping to save face.

It was probably his first beating. His eyes burned with resentment, ignoring his father’s attempt to smooth things over.

He glared at everyone, lips pressed tight, hurt and anger written all over his face.

"I said I didn’t hit him, and even if I did, so what? This girl, abandoned years ago—she’s only a treasure to other people. Why bring her back?"

His words stung, but I stood my ground. I wouldn’t let him rewrite my story.

"You dare talk back?" Birth father lunged to stop his son.

He grabbed his son’s arm, voice trembling, but the damage was already done.

The tragic family reunion turned into a brawl. The crowd had a front-row seat.

Phones were out, people live-streaming. The whole mess exploded online in minutes. We were viral, for all the wrong reasons.

Of course, my dad and I became the two victims—especially Dad.

I pretended to cry, feeling Dad squeeze my hand, gentle even now.

His grip was weak but comforting. I leaned into him, and this time, the tears were real.

Soon, the ambulance arrived, and Dad was whisked away to the hospital.

Sirens wailed, paramedics hustled Dad onto a stretcher. I followed close, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

After the crowd cleared out, Dad slowly opened his eyes.

He sat up, scratching his head awkwardly. "This is my first time faking something. If Mark hadn’t told me you were being harassed, I wouldn’t have done it."