Rain poured through Mike’s coat as the coffin was lowered into the soggy ground. He stood back, watching mourners gather by the grave. Some whispered, others stood silent. Ruth, pale and tense, stood with her grown children, Amy and Dan, her hands clenched, her eyes far away. Across the path, a man and woman lingered, their damp clothes and uneasy expressions hinting at a deeper reason for being there. Mike didn’t know them, but their presence weighed heavily. He looked at the casket, his heart sinking for George, his trucking friend of twenty years. They’d shared laughs and stories on long hauls, but now Mike saw the lies hidden in those miles.
The service ended, and the groups drifted closer, tension rising. Amy spoke first, her voice cold. “Who are you?” The woman hesitated. “I’m Emily,” she said. “This is my brother, Luke. We’re George’s children.” The words struck like lightning. Amy stepped back, Dan froze, and Ruth’s face paled further. “That’s not right,” Ruth murmured. “I was his wife. We were his family.” Luke’s voice was steady. “We didn’t know about you,” he said. Dan shouted, “You’re lying!” Emily’s voice trembled. “He was always away—work, he told us. Weeks gone.” Mike stepped in. “They’re not lying. George had two lives. Trucking made it easy—delays, breakdowns, excuses to keep you both in the dark.”
Amy’s face crumpled, and Ruth seemed lost. “He came to our concerts,” Emily whispered. “Some Christmases. We thought it was his job.” Amy yelled, “You’re making this up!” Luke snapped, “We waited too—every birthday!” Ruth’s voice shook. “He was my love!” Mike said, “He lied to you all.” The rain intensified, mirroring the anger. Mike mentioned a lawyer arriving to read George’s will, urging calm. The groups parted, broken, while Mike stayed by the grave, wondering how one man’s secrets could cause such pain.
George’s house smelled of damp wood and regret. Mike leaned against the wall, watching the families split the cramped living room. Amy sat stiffly, her hands fidgeting, while Dan stood behind her, arms crossed, glaring. Emily, pregnant, sat tensely, stealing glances, while Luke slouched, staring at the floor. Ruth sat in the middle, hands twisting, eyes blank. Mike spoke. “George’s job let him hide it. Long drives, weeks away, always an excuse.” Silence hung, anger brewing. Amy muttered, “We were just stops.” Emily’s voice shook. “You think we didn’t wait? We watched the door, hoping.”
Dan scoffed. “You got your piece, now you want ours?” Luke snapped, “Hurt doesn’t divide neatly.” The fight escalated. Dan raged about school loans George promised to pay. Amy spoke of a studio she planned with him. Emily, tearful, said, “My baby needs something.” Luke mocked Amy’s “art dream.” Amy screamed, “You’re intruders!” Emily said, “We’re his kids!” Ruth stood, voice raw. “Enough! I buried my husband today, only to learn he was a stranger.” Grief silenced them. Mike noted the lawyer’s arrival, but the groups glared, torn by betrayal.
The lawyer entered, holding a worn briefcase. “I have George’s will,” he said. “The estate—house, money, all of it—splits equally among his children, but only if you agree peacefully.” Amy stood. “No way I share!” Luke shouted, “I’m not giving up!” Dan pointed at Emily. “She’s not legitimate!” Emily yelled, “We’re his kids!” The lawyer tried to intervene, but shouts drowned him. He spoke louder. “If you can’t agree, everything goes to Mike.” Shock hit. Dan yelled, “Impossible!” Luke spat, “He’s nothing!” Amy accused Mike of scheming. Mike said, “I didn’t want this. George thought it might fix things. I’m donating it—shelters, food banks.”
Emily whispered, “You’re serious?” Mike nodded. “No one wins.” He walked into the rain, leaving the house filled with shouts and sorrow, knowing George’s lies had left only wreckage.
