CHAPTER 3: A Glimpse Of The Past And Present

The morning light streamed through the thin curtains of Eric's living room, casting faint patterns on the cluttered floor. The air was thick with stale coffee and regret, a silence broken only by the creak of the floorboards as Eric paced. He sat at the small dining table, a cold cup of coffee in his hands. The conversation with Martin from the night before lingered in his mind like a splinter, sharp and unrelenting.

Tim's family. The words echoed in his head. He had avoided thinking about them for months, too ashamed to even consider facing the pain he had caused. But now, with Martin's challenge fresh in his mind, he knew he couldn't hide any longer.

Eric's gaze drifted to the small stack of unopened mail on the kitchen counter.

Among them, the envelope with Helen's handwriting caught his eye—he knew what it was.

Divorce papers.

He stared at it for what felt like an eternity before snatching it up. The edge of the envelope crumpled under his grip as he peeled it open. The papers spilled onto the counter, but his attention was drawn to something else inside. A small, folded note, handwritten by Helen.

Eric,

This isn't the life I wanted for David or me. I wish things had been different, but this is where we are. David deserves stability, and I can't give him that as long as we're stuck in this cycle of hurt. Please understand.

The words blurred as his eyes burned. He squeezed them shut and took a sharp breath. Stability. How ironic. He barely had the strength to stabilize himself, let alone his relationship with his son.

The sound of a key in the lock startled him. The door creaked open, and there stood David, his school bag slung over one shoulder. His face was a mask of indifference, but his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

"David," Eric started, his voice tentative. "You're back early."

David didn't answer immediately. He walked to the dining table, dropped his bag, and rifled through the mail as if Eric wasn't even there.

"David, we need to talk," Eric said, stepping closer.

David finally looked up, his expression cold. "About what? You're signing the papers, right?"

Eric froze. "You know about that?"

"Of course, I do. Mom told me." David's voice was sharp, and for a moment, Eric saw a flash of anger behind his usually guarded eyes. "It's not like I expected anything else."

The words hit Eric like a physical blow. "David, I—"

"Save it," David interrupted, slinging his bag over his shoulder again. "I'm late for school."

As he turned to leave, a piece of paper slipped from his bag and fluttered to the floor. Eric bent down to pick it up. It was a math test—marked with a glaring red "D."

"You're struggling?" Eric asked softly, holding up the paper.

David snatched it from his hand. "It's none of your business."

"It is my business. I'm your father," Eric said, his voice trembling.

David laughed bitterly. "You're not my father. Not anymore."

Before Eric could respond, David stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The silence that followed was deafening.

Eric sank into the chair by the table, his head in his hands. He had failed at everything—his career, his marriage, and now his role as a father. He felt like a man drowning in quicksand, every attempt to escape only pulling him deeper.

His gaze fell to the stack of unopened mail again, and he reached for another envelope, this one addressed in neat handwriting. It was from Marcia Reynolds—Tim's widow.

Eric hesitated, then opened it. The words scrawled inside were raw and unrelenting:

Eric,

Among the bills and notices was a plain white envelope, the name "Reynolds" scrawled in familiar handwriting. He hesitated before reaching for it, his fingers trembling slightly. It had arrived weeks ago, but he hadn't had the courage to open it. Now, he peeled it open, the paper tearing unevenly.

Inside was a letter from Marcia Reynolds—Tim's widow. Her words were sharp, raw with anger and grief:

Eric,

I don't know why I'm writing this. Maybe I just need to say it, even if you never read it. You destroyed my family. You took Tim from me, from our children. He trusted you, and you let him down. We lost everything because of your negligence.

I hope you know the weight of what you've done. But more than that, I hope you understand that this isn't just about guilt. It's about responsibility. Do something, Eric. If not for me, then for Tim. For his memory.

—Marcia

Eric set the letter down, his chest tightening. The words cut deeper than Martin's accusations. He could almost hear Marcia's voice, trembling with rage and heartbreak.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and paced the room. What could he do? How could he possibly make amends for something so irreversible? His thoughts spiraled, each one heavier than the last, until his gaze landed on a small, dusty box in the corner of the room.

It was filled with mementos from his old life—photographs, awards, personal belongings that had once defined him. He pulled it closer, his hands shaking as he opened it.

The first thing he saw was a photograph of him and Tim, taken at a company picnic. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, laughing, beers in hand. Tim's easy grin and warm eyes stared back at him, a stark contrast to the cold reality of the present.

Eric felt his throat tighten. He remembered that day vividly—how Tim had helped him fix a flat tire on the way to the picnic, how they'd spent hours talking about their families. Tim had been more than a colleague; he had been a friend.

As Eric sifted through the box, he found a notebook tucked beneath the photos. Flipping through its pages, he realized it was filled with old ideas and plans—things he and Tim had brainstormed together during late-night meetings. Their shared vision of building a better, safer company now felt like a cruel joke.

Eric's hands stilled as a thought struck him. Maybe he couldn't undo the past, but he could honor Tim's memory by finishing what they had started. The idea terrified him, but it also ignited something he hadn't felt in months: purpose.

With trembling hands, he closed the box and stood, determination flickering in his eyes. If he was going to face Tim's family, he couldn't show up empty-handed. He needed to prove, not just to them but to himself, that he could still be the man Tim had believed in.