Loving the son I swore to destroy

Elias

The cemetery stood on a quiet stretch of land at the edge of the city. Inside its iron gates, rows of polished marble headstones caught the morning sun. Fresh flowers rested on neatly trimmed graves, and families moved carefully between them with buckets of water and small gardening tools. Some stood in silence while others laughed softly as they shared old memories with the people they had lost.

My parents weren't buried there.

I walked past the entrance without slowing down and followed the narrow path running alongside the cemetery wall. The farther I went, the fewer people I saw. The paved walkway led to a dry, uneven ground covered with stubborn weeds.

At the end of the path lay two simple mounds of earth with no marble or carved names. No flowers left behind by visitors too.

Just two weathered wooden crosses standing side by side.

Victor Vance and Grace Vance.

The names had almost faded completely. No cemetery in the city had wanted my father after he died in prison. The authorities said accepting his body would cause "unnecessary public unrest." My mother's grave had been moved here after she passed away years earlier so they could at least remain together. It wasn't much but it was the only place they had.

I adjusted the bouquet in my hand and walked toward them. Voices drifted over from the nearby road.

"Isn't that him?"

"The murderer's son."

"I can't believe he still comes here."

A woman walking with a little boy glanced in my direction before gently pulling the child closer to her side.

"Don't stare."

The boy looked anyway. A group of teenagers slowed down as they passed. One of them lifted his phone for a few seconds before another nudged his arm, and they continued walking.

Years ago, moments like these used to leave me hiding in my room for days.

Now...I simply kept walking. People always had something to say and I'd grown tired of listening.

I stopped in front of my parents' graves and let out a quiet breath. "Morning."

The word slipped out so naturally it almost felt like they could answer. I crouched and pulled away the weeds growing around the crosses before wiping the dirt from the faded wood with an old cloth I carried in my backpack.

The bouquet went between their graves. "I almost forgot these today," I said with a small smile. "The flower shop owner had to remind me."

Silence answered me. It always did.

Still, I found myself talking anyway. "Work's been busy." I brushed dried leaves away from the edge of my mother's grave.

"My supervisor finally trusted me with a restoration project. It's a big one this time."

I smiled to myself. "The roof is still leaking, though. I'll fix it when I get paid."

A light breeze stirred the grass around me. "Oh... and I remembered to eat breakfast today."

That one would have made my mother happy. She never liked it when I skipped meals. I reached into my bag again and brought out a small bottle of whiskey.

Dad's favorite. At least... that's what Mom used to tell me. I unscrewed the cap and poured a little onto the ground between them.

"For you."

Then I poured a small amount into a paper cup for myself. I raised it toward the two graves.

"Cheers."

The whiskey burned slightly as I swallowed. For a while, I said anything. Then I lowered my eyes to my father's grave. "I still don't understand why you confessed."

The words came out quietly."I've tried to." I nodded to myself. "I really have. But I still don't understand."

If he had been guilty, why had he looked so peaceful every time he came to see me?

Why had he spent every visit worrying about whether I'd finished my homework instead of asking for forgiveness?

Nothing about him had ever felt like the monster people described. Maybe I was just a son who couldn't accept the truth.

Or maybe...I stood before that thought could grow any further. There was no point chasing questions that would never be answered.

I picked up my backpack and started walking back toward the road. Halfway there, my phone vibrated inside my pocket.

One new voicemail. Central State Prison Administration.

I frowned.

When had they called? I played the message.

"Mr. Elias Vance, this is to inform you that your father's personal belongings have completed processing. You may collect them during office hours today. Please bring valid identification. Thank you."

The message ended. I stared at the screen for several seconds.

Personal belongings? No one had mentioned there were any. I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

The prison wasn't far from here. I could stop by before heading home.

---

The officer behind the reception desk looked up when I handed over my identification. His eyes paused briefly on my surname and recognition flashed across his face before disappearing behind practiced professionalism.

"Please have a seat."

I nodded. It took almost twenty minutes before another officer returned carrying a small cardboard box.

He placed it gently on the counter. "I'm... sorry for your loss."

His voice sounded sincere. "There wasn't much left."

I managed a polite smile. "Thank you."

The box felt surprisingly light in my hands. I carried it to one of the empty benches outside the administration building before opening it.

Inside lay only a few things.

An old wedding ring. A faded photograph of my parents when they were young. A folded receipt that looked too worn to read.

And...A silver pocket watch.

I picked it up carefully. The metal was scratched from years of use. When I pressed the latch, the cover sprang open.

The hands had stopped moving at Nine seventeen.

"It finally gave up too, huh?" I smiled faintly.

Dad had loved fixing broken things. Funny that no one had fixed this.

As I turned the watch over in my hand, my thumb brushed against something unusual. A soft click.

I frowned. Another compartment slid open beneath the casing. Hidden inside was a tiny brass key. No bigger than my little finger.

Beneath it were words so small I almost missed them.

Truth Survives Where Blood Cannot.

I read the sentence again. Then a third time. "What truth?"

Silence greeted me again. Ofcourse thee was no one who could answer. I turnsd the words over severally in my mind but I couldn't come up with any tangible idea on what mystery was behind the words and the watch. I carefully closed the compartment and slipped both the watch and the key into my pocket.

Whatever my father had wanted to leave behind, he'd hidden it well. I stood and started toward the bus stop across the street.

That's when I noticed it. A black luxury SUV stayed almost unnoticeable beneath the shade of a large tree.

Its engine wasn't running and the windows were tinted dark enough to hide whoever sat inside.

Except... The driver's window wasn't fully closed. A man in a tailored black suit sat in the back seat.

Even from across the road, I could tell he was watching me. Not with curiosity or pity but with the kind of calm attention that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

For a brief second, our eyes met. Something about him felt dangerous so I looked away first.

When the bus arrived, I climbed aboard without giving the stranger another thought. The black SUV remained where it was long after the bus disappeared around the corner.

I never looked back. 

Maybe if I had, I would have realized my life had already begun to change.