A Thrash becomes tyrant

Blood Never Lies

The room felt suffocating for me. I could barely breath. It is strange to see how just one letter could change the fate of man.

My fate.

The brown envelope felt heavier than it looked.

The doctor stood still, his face unreadable, like a man who had delivered too many life-changing results to be impressed by one more. Mac Donald did not rush him.

He only stretched his hand slowly, the way a man does when he already knows the answer but still fears hearing it.

“Give it to me,” he said.

The doctor handed him the envelope and stepped back.

I watched Mac Donald’s fingers slide under the flap. My chest felt tight. My leg, the useless one, throbbed faintly like it was reacting to the tension in the room.

I swallowed hard and held onto the arm of the chair.

He pulled out the paper.

The silence was loud.

His eyes scanned the document once.

Then again.

He stopped breathing for a second. I noticed it because I was doing the same.

Slowly, his lips curved—not a smirk this time, not a playful grin—but something different, something that looked like it had been buried for years and was just finding its way back to the surface.

He looked up at me.

My heart nearly stopped.

“Well?” I asked, my voice barely coming out.

He stood up suddenly, the paper trembling in his hand.

“You stubborn boy,” he said, his voice breaking. “You really came back to me.”

I frowned a little trying to hide my shock. Trying to hide the disbelief in my voice. “What are you saying?”

He walked toward me, stopped in front of my chair, and looked down at me like he was afraid I would disappear if he blinked.

“You are my son, Dan,” he said. “My blood. My flesh.”

The words hit me harder than any slap ever could.

I laughed.

Not because I was happy—no, because my mind could not accept it fast enough. “That’s not funny,” I said. “This is not the time for jokes.”

Mac Donald dropped the paper on the table and suddenly pulled me into his arms.

For a second, I froze.

Or should I say time freeze. I let out a gentle breath.

Then I felt it.

His shoulders shook.

The powerful man, the rich man, the man who had looked at me like a test subject minutes ago, was crying.

“I buried you once,” he whispered. “I mourned you. I believed you died with your mother. And now fate brings you back to me in a broken body but a strong heart.”

I didn’t know when my tears started falling.

I didn’t know when I hugged him back.

All I knew was that for the first time in my life, I wasn’t holding onto air.

He pulled back and cupped my face, studying every inch of it.

“You look like her,” he said softly. “And when you frown, you look like me.”

I sniffed. “So… I’m not leaving?”

He laughed through his tears. “Leaving? You are home, Son."

The doctor cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Mr Mac Donald. The match is confirmed beyond doubt.”

Mac Donald nodded. “Thank you. You may leave us.”

When the doctor left, Mac Donald turned serious.

“We have a lot to fix,” he said. “Starting with that leg.”

I looked down. “The doctors said the damage was too much.”

He scoffed. “You have been seeing poor doctors.”

I watched as he walked over to his desk, held his phone and began to call.

Thus, my life changed in a sec.

I was no longer, Mr Dan the loafer but instead, I was Daniel Donald.

******************************************************************

Within days, my life changed speed.

Specialists were flown in. Machines I had never seen before filled the private hospital wing Mac Donald owned. They talked about nerves, spine alignment, chances, risks.

Mac Donald never left my side.

“You don’t have to do all this,” I said one night.

He looked at me like I had insulted him. “I lost years with you. Let me at least fix what fate tried to take.”

The surgery lasted twelve hours.

I remember being wheeled in and seeing Mac Donald standing there, his hand on my shoulder.

“Fight,” he said. “We Donalds don’t quit.”

When I woke up, pain greeted me first.

Then hope.

Weeks passed. Therapy followed. Pain followed. Sweat followed.

Then one morning, the doctor smiled.

“Try to move your toes.”

I did.

They moved.

I cried like a child.

Mac Donald dropped to his knees and held my feet like they were gold.

“My son,” he whispered. “You came back twice. Now it is time to show the whole world I have another son. You are going to be one of the richest man in the city Daniel Donald."

My father said with a smile as he walked out of the room.

The announcement shook the city.

A press conference was called. Cameras everywhere. People who once ignored my existence now wanted a picture, a quote, a smile.

Mac Donald stood tall.

“This is my son, Dan Mac Donald,” he said. “The child I lost and fate returned. He will stand by my side from today onward.”

The flashlights blinded me.

My name echoed through the microphone and speakers. The headline was all about me and for the first time, revenge crept back into my heart.

Across town, Linda watched the news.

Her glass slipped from her hand and shattered.

“That’s not possible,” her father said, standing up. “That boy? That cripple?”

Linda’s mother shook her head. “This must be a lie.”

But the screen did not lie.

My face stared back at them—clean, dressed, standing beside one of the most powerful men in the country.

Linda’s heart pounded.

“That’s Dan,” she whispered.

Her father clenched his fist. “Impossible. He was nothing.”

Linda laughed bitterly. “We are fucked, Dad! What are we going to do." she looked at her father.