Too Late for Your Tears

The hospital corridor was quiet, so quiet it made his chest feel tight.

Ethan stood there holding the test results, staring at them for a long time before he could make out the words.

Terminal stomach cancer.

Three months.

He didn't really register much of what the doctor said after that, except for one line: "Try to do the things you want to do, while you still can."

He folded the report and tucked it into his coat pocket, his fingers stiff.

By the time he drove back to the Sterling manor, it was already dark. The villa was ablaze with lights, bright enough to sting.

The moment he stepped inside, the butler Thomas came over, his tone as matter-of-fact as always.

"Ethan, the young ladies are coming home for dinner tonight."

Ethan nodded.

Thomas added, "Charlotte said to make the meal properly, don't let the family lose face."

Ethan stood there for a moment, his throat tight, before finally answering, "Got it."

He took off his coat and walked into the kitchen.

Washing vegetables, slicing meat, simmering soup, plating the dishes. The oil smoke stung his eyes, but he barely noticed, moving with a mechanical precision that was almost unsettling.

Ten years in this house, and he knew better than any servant what each person liked to eat, what they avoided, who only took two bites of their main course at dinner.

The eldest, Charlotte, was picky, frowning at the slightest imperfection in plating. The second, Beatrice, always said "anything's fine" with a smile, but if the dish didn't meet her standards, she wouldn't touch it again. The third, Amelia, had a heavy palate and a short temper, snapping at him when she was hungry and cursing when she was annoyed.

He had always remembered.

He had always done it.

A dying man, still preparing dinner for them.

At that thought, the corner of Ethan's mouth twitched into a bitter smile.

The dishes were soon spread across the table. Charlotte sat down first, dressed in a sharp suit, eating as if she were presiding over a board meeting. She swept her gaze across the table and said flatly, "This looks decent today."

Beatrice leaned in, smelled the soup, and smiled. "Good work, Ethan. Must have been tiring."

Amelia picked up a piece of spare rib with her chopsticks and complained as she ate, "About time you made it right. Should've been like this all along."

Ethan stood off to the side, watching them eat.

No one told him to sit.

Ten years ago, his adoptive father had brought him back from the orphanage and told him this was his home now. But in this house, he was more like an unpaid servant. They ate, he stood. They went upstairs, he cleaned up. The moment they expressed any displeasure, he had to make it right.

Tonight was the last time.

That thought settled over him, and oddly, he felt calmer.

After the meal, the servants cleared most of the dishes, leaving the pots and pans for him.

Amelia tossed her napkin on the table and stood up to leave. "Clean the kitchen properly. Don't leave water on the floor, who's going to take responsibility if someone slips?"

Charlotte fastened her cuff and said coolly, "See things through to the end. Do I still need to teach you basic rules?"

Ethan murmured an acknowledgment and turned into the kitchen.

Water rushed from the tap, plates sliding through his hands one after another. It wasn't until his stomach felt hollow that he remembered he hadn't eaten a thing since leaving the hospital. There was still some cold rice in the pot, and unfinished dishes on the counter. With his back to the doorway, he quickly scooped a couple of bites into his mouth.

A sharp voice cut through from behind. "How dare you sneak leftovers? The young ladies haven't even finished!"

Ethan froze.

The nanny walked over, her face twisted with disgust. "Just what you'd expect from someone raised in an orphanage, no self-respect at all, shoving food into your mouth the moment you see it."

Footsteps stopped outside. Charlotte stood at the kitchen doorway, her brow furrowed. "That's a terrible look. Ethan, this family has raised you for ten years, and you still haven't learned the most basic manners?"

Amelia leaned against the doorframe. "I told you long ago, he can't change what's in his bones. He's been putting on an act all these years and it finally shows today. What, have we been starving you?"

Ethan put down his chopsticks, his fingertips cold.

From a corner came a very soft voice. "He's been busy all evening, he hasn't eaten yet..."

It was Harper, the youngest. But the moment she spoke, Charlotte silenced her with a single glance.

Ethan didn't say anything, just lowered his head and sped up the washing. He had to hurry. He needed to tell them before they went upstairs.

When the last bowl was washed, his arms were so sore he could barely lift them. Charlotte and the others were about to leave when Ethan dried his hands and said hoarsely, "I might not be able to cook anymore after this."

The living room went quiet for two seconds.

Charlotte turned around. "And this is why you're making that face?"

Amelia exploded. "What's that supposed to mean? You've been an adopted son for a few years and now you've got an attitude? You think cooking a meal is beneath you?"

Ethan looked at them. "I mean, I won't be able to do it at all anymore."

Beatrice suddenly smiled, a soft smile. "That's fine too."

Ethan froze, a faint glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes.

But the next second, Beatrice reached into her bag and pulled out a bank card, sliding it across the counter toward him. "There's a million in here, as compensation."

Her tone was gentle, but every word cut deep. "Ethan, we've found our real biological brother. It's been confirmed, and he'll be coming home soon. If you stay, it'll be awkward for everyone. It's better if you leave with some dignity."

Ethan stood frozen. "Biological brother?"

Charlotte picked up. "You were always just an adopted son. You've taken up this position for ten years, that's long enough. When our real brother comes home and sees you here, it'll make him uncomfortable. If a million isn't enough, I can give you ten million. But you move out today."

Ethan stared at her, his hands slowly clenching. "Before Dad died, he told me to take care of this family. Someone whose background hasn't even been verified, and you're just bringing him back without question?"

Amelia let out a cold laugh and stepped closer. "Who do you think you are to question us? You really think you're a Sterling?"

"I took care of this family for ten years." Ethan raised his head, his voice heavy. "When the company had problems, I stayed up all night working on solutions. Every single thing in your lives, I handled it. And now you're kicking me out for a stranger?"

Charlotte's expression remained cold, as if she were passing judgment on someone insignificant. "The decision is mine. I'm in charge of this house. Take the money and leave. Don't make me call security."

The air felt suddenly heavy.

Ethan looked at them, his heart slowly crumbling. Ten years of devotion, and in their eyes it wasn't even worth a single moment of decency.

He pushed the bank card back. "I don't want the money. You're the ones kicking me out today. Don't come back regretting it."

Beatrice's smile faded slightly. "Don't make yourself out to be the victim. Giving you compensation is us being considerate."

Amelia was even more impatient. "Quit pretending to be noble. You're just greedy."

Harper started to say something, but Charlotte cut her off without turning around. "Shut up."

Ethan said nothing more.

He went back to his room, grabbed his coat, didn't even pack his things, and walked straight to the door.

No one stopped him.

The door closed behind him with a heavy sound, as if it had shattered the past ten years along with it.

The night wind hit his face, making his eyes sting. On his deathbed, his adoptive father had held his hand and said, "Ethan, take care of them for me." He had carried those words for ten full years.

And now, he had been thrown out like a stray dog by the very people he had devoted himself to.

His phone rang. Ethan answered.

On the other end, a respectful but urgent voice said, "Sir, the Sterling Group's new project was deliberately sabotaged by Vanguard Group. Do you want us to send a warning? One word from you, and they'll back off tomorrow—"

"No need." Ethan cut him off, his voice cold and sharp.

A pause on the other end. "Sir?"

Ethan looked up at the Sterling manor, its lights still blazing as if nothing had happened.

"From now on, pull everyone we have inside Sterling out completely. Don't interfere with the Sterlings' affairs anymore."

There was obvious hesitation on the other end. "But if we pull out, their operations will collapse very soon."

The corner of Ethan's mouth curled, his eyes completely devoid of warmth. "Then let them carry it themselves. They don't deserve it."

He hung up and walked into the night.