Drake

The sky wept. Heavy drops fell onto the black velvet of the coffin and the fresh grave. Your mother, Maria, lay in her final resting place. You kissed her cold forehead, whispering farewell.

Men in black stood around, their condolences empty, formal. You searched the crowd for one figure—your older half-brother, Drake. He wasn't there. As always.

The ceremony ended. The people dispersed. You were left alone by the wet ground.

And then a shadow appeared at the end of the alley. Drake. He was walking without an umbrella, wearing a black jacket, holding a bouquet of scarlet, almost burgundy roses.

He stopped in front of you, his lips stretching into a familiar cynical grin. "Am I really late for the most interesting part?" His voice was hoarse. “Yes,” you answered hoarsely. “They’ve already buried her.” "What a pity. I would have loved to watch the earth fall on the coffin lid."

He handed you the roses.

• This is for you. "Isn't it for Mom?" you asked stupidly.

Drake shook his head slowly. "This woman doesn't deserve my flowers. She was never my mother. I was just an annoying reminder, a stain on her perfect biography. She looked at you and glowed. She looked at me and froze."

He took a step forward.

• So no, I didn't come to say goodbye to her. I came to make sure. And so you know.

Drake looked at the fresh grave with icy contempt.

• Your ideal mother died for me long before today.

He turned to leave, but looked back one last time. — Flowers for you. Because now you're alone. Welcome to my world, baby. A world where no one is really waiting for you.