Transcription
When I returned from the war, my family exclaimed, "You survived!" I placed my military hat on the counter, confused. Yes, I've been due to come home for months.
My mom stumbled back and grabbed the doorframe. My dad held my sister's hand while her face went ghost white. I locked eyes with each of them, and that's when I saw it, disappointment clear as day. They'd always seen me as the family regret, but I was hoping deployment would change that.
I was just about to surprise them with my promotion of 300,000 when my dad butted in. "Son, maybe you should extend your deployment." Suddenly, all of my family's heads turned up in anticipation of my response. "I can't. I was exposed to the burn pit, and it gave me a rare form of cancer. I only have 8 months left to live."
As soon as the lie left my lips, their reaction like a hawk. For a split second, I caught the sight of a smirk on every single one of their faces. "That's so sad," my sister blurted out, burying her face in her hands. "They better provide good death benefits, at least," my mom said, rubbing my arm. "I think they give 400K to grieving families."
That night, I pretended to sleep on the couch. From the kitchen, Mom, Dad, Cecilia, and her boyfriend Pender were talking. "His insurance pays out 400,000 when he goes," Mom said. "Pender, you can finally start your business," Cecilia added. "Cecilia's wedding will be fully funded," Pender responded.
I smiled silently. You see, I'd heard dozens of horror stories in the military, and I knew that the best revenge was feeding into their delusions and letting them destroy themselves. Over the next few days, I played my part perfectly. I'd stumble into walls. I'd cough blood into tissues. When Pender mentioned wanting a new truck, I made sure to wheeze, "I wish I could help."
But that's when Dad's eyes lit up. "Actually, son, could you sign something for us? Just family paperwork." I pretended my hands were too weak to read it properly, but it was a 100,000 loan against my life insurance policy. "Whatever helps the family, Dad." What they didn't realize was they'd just committed a federal crime.
The real game began when Pender quit his job. He walked in carrying a cardboard box from his office. "Why work when we're rich in 5 months?" he announced, not knowing I was home. I listened as he replayed the phone call with his boss. "You lazy sack of you didn't even bother checking my CV, and I faked half my degree and certifications." "Pender!" Cecilia fake scolded, giggling like a maniac.
A few nights later at dinner, I decided to twist the knife. "You know," I said casually, pushing food around my plate, "the doctor said something strange today. My white blood cell count is improving." He said the cancer might not be as aggressive as Cecilia's fork clattered onto her plate. "What?" She cleared her throat, forcing a smile. "I mean, doctors can be wrong. Let's not get our hopes up." "Yeah," Pender added quickly, "false hope is cruel. We should prepare for the worst."
I nodded slowly, but in the back of my mind, I thought about how I'd already spent my $300,000 bonus. The Mercedes AMG in storage, the downtown penthouse already furnished. Every day they thought I was at treatment. I was living my actual life. It almost made me feel guilty until it was time for the funeral planning.
Mom pulled out a literal binder. "We've picked your casket," she said, showing me the cheapest option. "And Cecilia's giving your eulogy. We told the funeral home payment in full comes from life insurance," Dad explained. He'd also cashed out his entire 401K with a 40% penalty, losing the $80,000 he'd saved for 30 years. "Smart thinking," I wheezed.
Cecilia had dropped out of college in her final semester, forfeiting her degree and $60,000 in tuition. My mom had broken the apartment lease, owing $15,000 in penalties, and told her landlord to sue her because I'll be rich soon. That night, I heard them on a conference call with a voice I didn't recognize. "another 100 grand," Dad was saying. "The insurance pays out in 2 months maximum. You understand what happens if you don't pay?" The accent was thick, and there was casino music in the background. "We'll have your money," Pender promised. "His organs are failing." My life had been reduced to collateral.
The next morning, Mom handed me a coffee with shaking hands. It tasted bitter, wrong. I pretended to drink it while she watched, then poured it out later. The residue at the bottom looked grainy. They were trying to speed things up.
The next morning, I scheduled a family meeting for Sunday, saying the doctors wanted to discuss hospice options. They practically celebrated. They had no idea the funeral they'd planned wasn't mine. It was theirs. Full story on channel, link below.