Raymond clutched his nose as blood streamed down, fury in his eyes.

"You fucking hit me?"

"Shut the fuck up!" I spat, raising my fist again.

But before I could strike, Yedda grabbed my arm, holding me back with all her strength.

She shook her head, her face filled with weariness.

"Boyce, I used to think you were a responsible man. Now, seeing you consumed by jealousy—it's disgusting.

"Can't you two take this outside?"

The receptionist, a young woman, had a pained expression as clients began filtering into the room.

I didn't want to be around them any longer and needed to clear my head.

I stepped out, ignoring Raymond's parting threat.

"Boyce, this isn't over."

Leaning against the wall outside, I lit a cigarette.

I knew exactly why he targeted me—because he genuinely liked Yedda.

But Adelaide had seen through him, recognizing his petty and spiteful nature, and had refused to accept him.

So, he settled into the role of the "best friend," biding his time.

He never imagined that Yedda and I would fall in love and eventually get married.

Unable to let it go, he saw me as a thorn in his side, always encouraging Yedda to argue with me or stirring up trouble so he could swoop in and play the hero.

I crushed the cigarette underfoot and was about to call the photographer when the screech of brakes echoed behind me.

I turned to see several men dismounting from motorcycles, each wielding a club.

I recognized them—Raymond's lowlife friends.

Their faces were full of malice.

"You didn't even run after hitting my buddy? Standing here like you're waiting to die?"

I reached for my phone to call the police, but they knocked it out of my hand and dragged me into a nearby alley.

As they hauled me into the shadows, I saw Raymond and Yedda strolling toward us, side by side.

Yedda looked conflicted, but the disappointment was written all over her face.

"Boyce, my mom treated you like her own son. If you didn't want to take care of her, fine. But to blame me? And then to hit Raymond?

"You've really let me down."

The men held me firmly as Raymond stepped forward and punched me in the face.

"That's for what you owe Adelaide," he snarled.

The world spun, and I felt the warmth of blood trickling from my nose.

Thud.

Another punch landed squarely on my jaw.

"And this one's for me."

Raymond pulled back to strike again, but Yedda stopped him. "That's enough. If you hit him any harder, we might end up in real trouble."

Perhaps noticing a passerby approaching, Raymond reluctantly dropped his fists.

I slumped to the ground, blood streaming down my face, laughing hysterically.

One of the thugs holding me down muttered, "Raymond, you've knocked something loose in his head."

They spat on me in disgust before hurrying off.

Maybe I really was losing it.

No one understood how much pain—real, physical pain—could bring a strange, almost perverse relief to someone as numb as I was.

A part of me even craved it.

Why hadn't Raymond just finished me off?

Then I could be with Adelaide again.

I couldn't imagine how lonely she must have been, how much she must have yearned to hold on, to get that one last family photo.

And yet, was it really so hard to make that wish come true?

Just then, my phone rang where it lay on the ground.

It was the photographer we had booked.

Before I could reach it, Yedda snatched it up.

"Yes, we're on our way," she said sweetly.

Then, looking at me, disheveled and beaten, her expression turned to one of contempt.

"Boyce, looking at you now, there's no way we can take that family photo.

"I don't want you ruining my mom's last wish."

I kept my gaze down, not even wanting to look at her.

Perhaps trying to provoke me further, she looped her arm through Raymond's, her voice turning soft and tender.

"We'll take the family photo—the three of us."

Raymond looked taken aback. "But... your mom doesn't like me."

Yedda glanced at me.

"The one she treated like a son used her as a pawn in a petty love triangle, and when things got tough, he just wanted to walk away.

"But the one she didn't like stayed by her side. My mom's no fool; she knew who truly cared.

"Come on, let's go change, and then we'll bring my mom over."

As they walked back inside, I followed them, wiping the blood from my nose, my steps unsteady.

Raymond noticed and couldn't resist a sneer.

"Look who's back—the dog that just won't leave."

Yedda let out a frustrated huff.

"My patience is gone. Didn't you want a divorce, Boyce? Fine, I agree."

She pulled out her phone and called the real estate agent, deliberately putting it on speaker.

"Hi, the house my mother asked you to sell? Yeah, we're taking it off the market. I'm getting a divorce, and I'll be living there."

But then her expression shifted to one of disbelief.

"What? She gave the keys to Boyce Todd?"

Raymond, never missing a chance to stir the pot, chuckled.

"So it's all about the house, huh?

"No wonder you've been playing the doting son-in-law. Now that the house is yours, your true colors come out."

Yedda's anger flared, her face turning red. She pointed a trembling finger at me.

"Listen to me, Boyce. You can forget your little schemes.

"My mom may have cared for you, but she wasn't your real mom. As long as I'm alive, nothing of hers will ever belong to you."

I didn't have the energy to argue anymore.

Just then, the photographer, Jack, emerged from the studio.

He handed me a large frame wrapped in black cloth.

"This is the one Ms. Adelaide Trevelyan loved the most. It's ready."

I nodded gratefully, holding the frame close to my chest.

"Are you out of your mind? My mom wanted a family portrait.

"What is this, you and her alone? Who do you think you are?

"You hypocritical bastard, I won't allow you to be in the same frame with my mother."

She stepped forward, ready to snatch it away.

I couldn't let her disturb Adelaide's peace, so I shielded the frame.

But Raymond moved in quickly, grabbing my wrist with a tight grip. I struggled, but he overpowered me and took the frame.

He looked down at me with disdain.

"Boyce, get real. To her, you were just a son-in-law by marriage, no blood ties."

I could only manage a bitter smile.

Initially, I had thought the same.

But everything changed when Adelaide altered her will at the last minute, leaving the house to me. It was then that I realized how much I had meant to her.

On her deathbed, she had clutched my hand, her voice weak but filled with warmth.

"Boyce, thank you for staying by my side. I have a few things I need to say to you.

"Divorce Yedda. I know you've wanted to for a long time, but selfishly, I didn't want her to lose you.

"Now, though, I can't bring myself to speak for her anymore. I know you've been through a lot, and she doesn't deserve you. Leave her, and I wish you happiness for the rest of your life.

"Even after I'm gone and the family falls apart, you'll always be my eldest son."

Tears welled up in my eyes again.

Jack, the photographer, glanced between Yedda and me, then asked, "So, she's the wife you mentioned—the one who never showed up that night?"

Yedda, not catching his meaning, replied haughtily, "I used to be. But from today on, no more."

"Oh, by the way," she added, turning to Jack with a smile, "are you free today? I'd like to book another session for a new family photo."

Jack hesitated. "Well, I have time, but... shouldn't you give him the picture first?"

Before he could finish, there was a sudden crash.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room. Raymond had "accidentally" dropped the frame, shattering it into pieces.

"Oh, whoops. My bad," he said with mock innocence.

The room fell deathly silent.

No one noticed the color draining from Yedda's face as she stared at the ground, frozen in shock.

Nor did anyone see the black cloth slipping off to reveal what had been inside the frame: the black-and-white portrait of Adelaide, now lying quietly among the shards of broken glass.