MILES
As I lie here on my grandfather's bed, surrounded by the familiar scent of his cologne and the fading memories of our time together, I can't help but feel a sense of emptiness. The rain outside seems to mirror the turmoil within me, each drop echoing the tears that stream down my face.
I remember the way he used to hold my hand when I was a child, his rough skin and gentle grip giving me comfort in times of fear or sadness. He had a way of making everything better, of chasing away the shadows with his infectious laughter and kind words. And now, as I lay here, all I have left is the memory of those moments and the ache in my heart that refuses to subside.
The rain continues to fall, each droplet a reminder of the life that my grandfather lived, the love he shared, and the legacy he left behind. As I listen to its rhythmic beat, I close my eyes and let the sorrow wash over me, allowing myself to grieve fully and release all the emotions that have been building up inside me since his passing.
I opened and stared at the ceiling as my mind kept wandering back to my father. It was strange; I hadn't thought about him much since we arrived at this old house, but now his absence felt like a gaping hole in our lives. My mom, my brother Jackson, and I had all come here to attend Grandpa's funeral, but Dad hadn't joined us. The thought of him not being here, not mourning with us, made me feel angry and hurt.
I couldn't shake off the feeling that he didn't care about Grandpa or us. Didn't he miss him? Didn't he miss the us? The questions swirled in my head, refusing to let go.
I tried to push them away and focus on the present, but my mind kept drifting back to Dad. How could he do this to us? Why did he have to be so selfish? A tear rolled down my cheek, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out loud. I hated myself for feeling this way, but I couldn't help it.
Lost in my thoughts, a sudden gentle knock disrupted my peaceful reverie, causing me to glance up at the door without standing up. My heart skipped a beat as I saw someone standing in the doorway other than my mother. She wore a black dress and coat, her eyes shining with a warm smile as she gazed at me. Despite the unexpected interruption, I couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and security knowing that my mother was here as if everything would be okay now that she had entered the room.
"Hey," Mom said with a sweet smile as she sat down on the bed, patting my head like I was still her baby boy. I couldn't help but smile back at her, feeling a warmth in my heart that only a mother's love could bring.
"You've been lying here for like an hour now," she said, her voice filled with concern. "Have you eaten anything yet? Do you want me to grab you something?" She always worried about my health and well-being, and it was a habit of hers that I had grown accustomed to over the years.
I shook my head before answering, "No, Mom, I'm good. Just enjoying your company." The truth was, I wasn't hungry at all.
Mom smiled again, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Okay, honey. Well, let me know if you change your mind." I smiled and nodded in response.
"Good, bye the way, someone's here to see you," she said, emphasizing the word someone. Her voice was soft, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. My brow furrowed in confusion as I looked up from my work.
"Who is it?" I asked, trying to hide my curiosity.
"He says he's your friend, and he came here to send his condolences," she replied, her voice dripping with drama. I felt a jolt of surprise run through my body.
"Do you want me to bring him in?" she asked, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. But then, something inside me clicked. "I'll go get him," she said with a smile before she made her way out of the room.
A few moments later, a handsome young man appeared in the doorway, dressed in a sleek black suit. My heart skipped a beat as our eyes met, and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Ty? What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to hide my surprise.
"I should leave you guys alone; I'll be back when we're ready to go," she said, patting Tyler's shoulder twice before leaving us alone.
Ty looked worried as he made his way towards me. "I'm sorry, I should've told you I'm coming," he apologized, his brow furrowed in concern.
My heart raced as I met his gaze, feeling a rush of emotions that left me breathless. "Ty, it's alright," I managed to stammer out. "I'm really glad you're here."
He smiled, and the tension in the air dissipated like mist in the sun. "I just wanted to be with you, Miles," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "And I was worried too."
As he sat next to me, I couldn't help but notice the way his hand felt when he wrapped it around mine. It was like a warm embrace, comforting and familiar. His fingers intertwined with mine, sending shivers down my spine. I looked up at him, our gazes meeting in a tender moment of understanding.
"I love being with you," he whispered, his voice low. The words sent a rush of happiness through my body, making my heart race and my pulse quicken.
We both lay on the bed, both staring at the ceiling, our fingers still intertwined with each other.
SCOTT
As the rain continued to pour down on me, I stood firmly on the dock, my eyes fixed on the misty horizon of the lake. The water was choppy and turbulent, but I couldn't help feeling drawn to it. This place, this lake, was the place where my father taught me how to fish, how to swim, and how to sail a small boat. The memories of those carefree childhood summers are etched into every fiber of my being, and yet, it is also the place where I witnessed my mother's last breath.
I remember the countless hours my father spent teaching me how to cast a line and wait for that perfect bite. He would patiently sit with me, his patience and kindness never wavering, even when I got hooked on a rock or snagged my line on a submerged log. And then there were the days when he would take me out in the little wooden sailboat, the wind whipping through my hair as we glided across the water. Those moments were pure bliss, the kind of happiness that only comes from spending time with someone you love in a beautiful place.
But it is here, at this very spot, that my mother took her final breath. She had always been the strong one who held our family together through thick and thin. And yet, she was taken from us far too soon, leaving behind a gaping hole in our lives that could never be filled. I remember the sound of her voice, the way she smelled, the way she laughed of itoffsn't, except for the memories that I hold dear.
But now that my father was gone, I realized how much I had missed out on. All those years of resentment and anger had taken their toll, leaving me with a sense of emptiness and longing. I regretted not taking the time to understand him, to hear his side of the story, and to forgive him for his flaws and mistakes.
As the heavy raindrops pounded against my skin, I felt a sense of relief washing over me. The cool water soothed the burning sensation in my eyes, but it did little to quench the flames of grief that consumed my heart. Despite the wet conditions, I could feel the warmth of tears streaming down my face, mingling with the raindrops, and creating a salty mixture that dripped onto the dock below.
I kneeled there and let out a sob that echoed through the place. My body trembled as I wept uncontrollably, the weight of my sorrow crushing me beneath its heaviness. The bouquet of white roses clutched tightly in my hands seemed to mock me, their delicate petals now limp and lifeless.
...
As the rain pounded against the wet earth, I stood at a distance, watching as my father was laid to rest. The somber occasion was made even more poignant by the heavy downpour, which seemed to mirror the grief that filled my heart. My family and friends were all gathered around the grave, their tears and sobs mingling with the raindrops as they said their final goodbyes. But I couldn't bring myself to join them.
"Nothing would change if you'll just stand here and watch your dead father buried 6 feet underground," the deep familiar voice of a man said, interrupting my thoughts and causing me to slightly jolt upright. I couldn't believe my eyes. There, standing in front of me, was none other than my first love, Heather. It had been years since we last saw each other, and yet, there he was, looking more handsome and confident than ever before. His dark hair was wet, and his shaved beard was now visible due to the newly grown hair, giving him a rugged and mature look that made my heart skip a beat. The same sparkle in his gray eyes that once captivated me was still present, but this time it seemed even brighter as if it had been amplified by the passing of time. And yet, despite the changes, his body, once so gaunt, was now toned and muscular, similar to my physique, which I had always considered average for a man.
As I stood there frozen in shock, Heather's gaze met mine, and our eyes locked in a familiar yet forgotten connection. Time seemed to stand still as we stared at each other, both of us unsure of what to say or do next. But then, without breaking eye contact, he smiled.
"Heather? Is that you? What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice laced with surprise and confusion as I looked at him. He was, holding an umbrella and looking like he belonged on this rainy day.
"What brings you here?" I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the situation. Heather just smiled a little and handed me the umbrella.
"I bet you have so many questions inside your head right now," he joked, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. But despite his attempt at levity, I could sense that there was something he was thinking about, something that lurked beneath the surface of his words and actions.
"I lost my parents the day your father shot me, and after that incident, your father bailed out and went to the hospital to pay for everything he had done to me. My hospital bills, and medications, and even took care of me, he even welcomed me to stay at his house and support me like his own." He said
"What do you mean? My father was a madman, Heather, and I still can't forget that he shot you!" I exclaimed but not loud enough to be heard from everyone. Heather smirked.
"He was a madman indeed, Scott. But at least your father wasn't a coward to face the consequences of his actions. He wasn't a coward for the fact that he told everyone from the town how wrong he was for shooting me and for how cruel he had treated you." Heather said sounding angry, yet he managed to take a deep breath before continuing to speak.
"I know you hated him, Scott, for all the things he had done to you, but I just wanted to let you know that your father had changed since that day, he regretted everything and there's not a single day he'd wished he could talk to you and settle things up. But you're nowhere to be found." He said looking down on the ground with a fake smile.
"I hated him too for quite a long time, but it didn't stop me from forgiving him, maybe it's time that you do the same too, Scott." He added then turned his gaze towards me.
"Why should I?" I asked trying to hide my emotions.
"Forgiveness is not always easy, but it's necessary for healing," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. I had been struggling with the weight of my past for so long, and his words struck a chord deep within me.
I had tried everything to forget, to move on, but nothing seemed to work. The memories of my past haunted me, taunting me with their bitterness. But as I listened to him speak, something shifted inside of me.
"When we hold onto anger and resentment, we keep ourselves trapped in the past," he continued. "But when we choose to forgive, we open ourselves up to a new future, one filled with hope and possibility."
His words were like a balm to my soul, soothing the wounds that had festered for so long. I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a sense of freedom that I had never experienced before.
"It doesn't mean that what happened was okay," he added, "but it means that we're choosing to let go of the pain and hurt, and instead focus on moving forward. Because if you can't, then you'll end up just like him," he added which reminds me of all the things I've done with my son, Miles. Suddenly, Heather tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I'll see you soon, my friend" Heather's words sent a shiver down my spine as he smiled mischievously before turning to leave. But just as he was about to disappear, I reached out and grabbed his hand, gently pulling him back.
"Why are you doing this, Heather? Aren't you supposed to be mad at me for leaving you behind?" I asked unable to control my emotions. He was slightly surprised by my question but still managed to recover quickly.
"Because you're my friend, Scott and I once loved you Mad? No, I was hurt because you disappeared without a trace leaving me the day I needed you the most! But that doesn't matter anymore because I forgave you a long time ago, and maybe it's time you forgive yourself too." He said leaving me speechless.
We stared at each other's eyes for a moment but before I knew it, his arms were wrapped around me, tightening his grip for a warm embrace. Without knowing, I found myself responding to his embrace. I'm so sorry Heather. We stayed in that position for almost a minute, but then Heather quickly let go of the hug sniffing like he silently cried.
"It's nice seeing you again, Scott, Goodbye," he said with a smile as his eyes filled with tears. He then extended his arms toward me, then raised his index finger as his way of saying he loved me. 
And Just like that, he was gone.
MILES
As the rain poured down relentlessly outside, casting a gloomy shadow over the somber occasion of Grandpa's funeral, my mom made a surprising decision. Instead of returning home immediately after the service, she suggested that we spend the night at Grandpa's house. The thought of being trapped in this eerie place, surrounded by memories of our beloved grandfather, filled me with apprehension. But Mom's resolute tone left no room for argument.
Tyler had come with us to the funeral but as the storm raged on, Mom insisted that he should stay for the night too. I could tell that Tyler wasn't thrilled about the idea, but he couldn't deny the wisdom of waiting out the storm inside a warm and familiar place. So, we all trudged through the wet graveyard, our heads bowed in respect and made our way to Grandpa's old Victorian home.
As we entered the house, the silence felt oppressive. The only sound was the patter of rain against the windows and the creaks and groans of the ancient house. My mind wandered to the countless sleepovers we had spent here as kids, playing hide-and-seek in the labyrinthine hallways and listening to Grandpa's stories of ghosts and monsters under the bed. Now, the shadows seemed to take on a menacing quality, as if they were watching us instead of the other way around.
As we both waited for dinner, Tyler and I decided to spend some time in Grandpa's study room, rummaging through the walls of bookshelves filled with books that seemed to stretch up to the ceiling. The smell of old paper and musty air surrounded us as we delved deeper into the shelves, searching for something that would catch our attention.
Tyler, being the curious one, was fascinated by the ancient tomes bound in leather and adorned with golden lettering. He ran his fingers over the spines, whispering the titles out loud as he searched for something that might interest him. I, on the other hand, preferred the more modern books, their covers sleek and glossy, promising exciting adventures and thrilling stories within their pages.
As we explored, the sound of rustling papers and creaking wood echoed throughout the room, creating an eerie atmosphere that sent chills down my spine. But despite the ominous feel, we continued to search, driven by a sense of wonder and curiosity.
"Your Grandfather must be so fond of books," Tyler said and I glanced at him chuckling, he's not wrong.
My grandfather must have been quite the book lover himself, I thought, looking around at the countless volumes that surrounded us. Every available surface was covered in books - from the floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined the walls, to the piles of tomes stacked haphazardly on top of each other. It was like a bibliophile's dream come true.
"Grandpa always said that Grandma was the real bookworm between the two of them," I remembered out loud, chuckling at the image of my grandfather's mischievous grin whenever he spoke of her love for reading. "She had a special spot in the attic where she'd sit for hours, devouring one book after another."
Tyler nodded knowingly, his eyes lighting up as he scanned the shelves. "Do you think any of these might be some of hers?" he asked, gesturing towards a row of classic novels with worn covers and dog-eared pages.
I shook my head, smiling. "Nah, those are all Grandpa's favorites. He used to say that the only thing he loved more than reading was talking about what he'd just finished reading."
We both laughed at the memory, and I felt a warmth spread throughout my heart. Even though they were no longer with us, their love for books lived on in this room, trapped within the pages of these timeless tales.
Suddenly, something caught my attention. At the corner of the shelf, there was a black leather notebook that said, "Mr. O'Malley's Diary" carved into the hardbound cover. The letters were worn and faded, but they seemed to whisper secrets from another time.
As I held the diary in my hands, I felt a sense of nervous anticipation wash over me. My grandfather had always been a private man, keeping his thoughts and feelings locked away from prying eyes. But now, as I delved into the pages of his diary, I was about to discover secrets that he had kept hidden for decades.
My heart raced as I turned the first page, the creamy paper whispering beneath my fingers. The handwriting was neat and precise, each word carefully crafted as if every thought was precious. As I read the opening entry, my mind reeled at the revelations within.
"Dear Diary," the words began, "I have something to confess. Something that has weighed heavily on my conscience for far too long."
I couldn't believe what I was reading. What could my grandfather have done that required such a heavy burden of guilt? I devoured the next few lines, my curiosity piqued.
"I have made a mistake, a grave one. One that will haunt me until the day I die. It is a secret that I have kept hidden for years, even from those closest to me. But today, I feel compelled to share it with you, dear diary. Perhaps by writing it down, I can finally find some form of absolution."
I couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue mixed with trepidation. What could this secret be? Had my grandfather done something wrong, something that had hurt someone he loved? My mind raced with possibilities, each more shocking than the last.
As I delved deeper into the pages of my grandfather's diary, my heart began to race and my mind swirled with conflicting emotions. Confusion, curiosity, anger, and sadness battled for dominance as I read the words on the page. The more I read, the more I felt a deep connection to my father, who had been subjected to such cruelty at the hands of his father.
My grandfather's treatment of my dad was like watching a boxer pummel a punching bag, relentless and merciless. Every word, every action, every glance seemed designed to break my father's spirit, to make him doubt himself and his worth. 
I couldn't help but feel a sense of outrage as I read about the way my grandfather treated my father. How could someone claim to love their child one moment, only to turn around and hurt them so deeply the next? It didn't make sense, and it made me question everything I thought I knew about my family and our history.
But alongside the anger, I also felt a deep sadness. My father had suffered so much, and yet he had never spoken about it, never wanted to burden anyone with his pain. And now, here I was, bearing witness to his struggles, feeling the weight of his silence.
As I finished reading the last entry in the diary, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I felt drained, emotionally raw, but also strangely empowered. I realized that I wasn't alone in this struggle and that my father had been through something similar.
"Miles, I think you had enough," Tyler said with a gentle voice as he wiped the tears that escaped from my eyes. I felt his delicate hands holding my face as he turned my gaze towards his.
His face looked concerned, I tried to control my emotions but after witnessing what my Dad had been through, I couldn't help but cry as I sobbed towards Tyler's chest.
"Go on, let it all out," Tyler said as he wrapped his arm around me while he was tapping my back.