Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Six months? You’ve been here dying for six months and nobody’s come?”
I nodded.
“You got kids?”
I held up three fingers.
“Three kids and none of them visit you?” His voice was getting louder. “Where the hell are they?”
I managed to whisper, “Too busy. Too important. Too ashamed of their old man.”
Marcus stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor. “What’s their names? Where do they live?”
I don’t know why I told him. Maybe because I was dying and had nothing to lose. Maybe because I was so angry and hurt I wanted someone else to know. Maybe because this stranger showed me more respect in five minutes than my own children had in years.
I told him everything. Stephanie’s address. Michael’s office. David’s phone number. I told him how they’d promised to take care of me and then abandoned me the moment I got sick. How they’d fought over my will before I was even dead. How they’d asked if I’d “considered selling the house” to “make things easier on everyone.”
Marcus listened with his fists clenched. When I finished, he leaned down close to me. “Brother, I can’t make your kids love you. But I can make damn sure they regret treating you like this. You interested?”
