“Busy Signing a Deal!” — Son Leaves His Father to Die Alone in Poverty… and Drowns in Regret
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BILLIONAIRE SON LEAVES HIS FATHER TO DIE ALONE IN POVERTY… AND DROWNS IN REGRET
The funeral drums in Ezyama village didn’t just announce a father’s departure; they exposed the deepest wound in the bond between father and son. Among the dozens of grand flower wreaths stood one cheap wreath, a faded silver ribbon glued on crookedly, with a small note pinned to it: “Rest in Peace, Dad.”
Papa Ikenna, the father who sacrificed his whole life for his only son, Chijioke, was sent off with a heart cheaper than that wreath.
THE ROAD TO LOGOS
Papa Ikenna lived a simple life in Ezyama, earning his living as a bricklayer. His sole purpose was to ensure his son, Chijioke, would get an education and escape poverty. Papa once promised Chijioke, “If you’re determined, your father will move the heavens to make it come true.”
Papa Ikenna took on huge debts, sold his old bicycle, and worked even when the rain seeped through the cuts on his skin. He never stopped because he heard the change in Chijioke’s voice—more confident, more distant, and always ending with: “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m about to succeed.”
He believed a parent’s love could bridge any distance. He believed his son would remember every drop of sweat.
SUCCESS TRADED FOR A FATHER
Chijioke arrived in Lagos with a heart full of ambition. He secured an internship at a major corporation. He quickly decided to erase his poor past. No more Chijioke; he was Kunlay now—more sophisticated, more acceptable.
He lied to new friends, claiming: “I’ve lived in Lagos my whole life.” He was terrified someone might see the poverty he came from.
Papa called often. Chijioke barely glanced at the screen before letting it ring into silence. “Dad is probably calling about some small village thing. I’m busy building a bigger future.”
On his final day of internship, Chijioke had polished his presentation until dawn. Fifteen minutes before the meeting that would change his life, his phone buzzed. A message from the village came through: “Son, your father is gone.”
Chijioke froze, but slowly flipped the phone over. “I’m sorry, Dad, but my future is right here.”
The signing was a spectacular success. Chijioke was officially hired. Champagne flowed. He raised his glass, reaching for his phone to share the good news.
Then the final call came through. Mama’s voice, broken: “Son, your father is gone.”
The world blurred. He collapsed. He rode back to Ezyama. Mama sat beside the coffin, her hair whiter, her eyes dry. “Your father called your name until his very last breath.”
Chijioke fell to his knees beside the coffin, screaming: “I haven’t apologized yet! Dad hasn’t heard me say it!”
Mama’s voice was barely a breath: “You chose success, and lost the one who loved you the most.”
THE CHEAP WREATH AND THE FINAL VOW
At the final memorial, Papa Ikenna’s coffin was surrounded by bright, fragrant wreaths from neighbors. Amidst all the beauty, one thing stood out painfully: the cheap plastic wreath Chijioke had sent home.
Mama lifted it, her exhausted smile cutting everyone’s hearts open. “This is all my husband received from the child he loved the most.”
Chijioke stood there, feet heavy as if stepping on shards of glass. “Mama, I’ll buy a new one, a better one.”
Mama cut him off: “No wreath can replace one moment when your father needed your tears.”
Chijioke broke. He tore the plastic wreath apart, collapsing to his knees, pounding the grave. “Dad, I’m here. I’m home now. Why couldn’t you wait just a little longer?”
He realized his father never wanted expensive wreaths. He only wanted his hand. Chijioke buried his face in his mother’s shoulder, whispering a vow: “From today, I’ll spend the rest of my life repaying the debt I abandoned—a debt called a father’s love.”
REDEMPTION IN LABOUR
Chijioke never returned to Lagos. He sold his expensive suit, rolled up his sleeves, and started rebuilding the unfinished house Papa Ikenna had left behind. Soft hands turned calloused as cement dust stained his shoulders.
He turned the new house into a community place where villagers could seek help. He sat beside Papa’s grave every evening, laying down a fresh, hand-grown wreath.
Mama Ikenna sat on the porch, watching him. “Your father would be smiling. But this time, don’t make me wait too long.”
Chijioke hugged her tightly: “I promise I will come home sooner.”
He learned that success cannot replace a father. Fame cannot save a love that’s already too late. A parents’ love, even when returned to the earth, still shelters the steps of their children. Chijioke’s debt was repaid not with money, but with time, labor, and a heart that finally knew the right time to return.
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