Brock never hated hard work. In fact, it was the only thing in life that made sense to him.
The blisters on his hands? The long nights without sleep? Worth it.
The ache in his back? A price gladly paid.
He did not care about the work he had to do relentlessly.
Because when he clocked in at 5 a.m. and out at midnight, he wasn't doing it for himself.
He was doing it for them, Anna, his wife of 23 years, and Ellie, his beautiful, brilliant daughter who used to wait for him no matter how late he got home. His two precious gems in his life.
But over the years, those late-night homecomings had gotten quieter. First, Ellie stopped waiting. Then, Anna stopped asking when he'd be home.
He was sad but he still believed that they loved him deeply.
So still he pushed on with his crippling life.
He thought, no, he believed that the sacrifices would be worth it. That the foundation he was building, brick by grueling brick, would give his family a life others could only dream of.
Until one evening, that foundation cracked.
He came home to silence. The lights were on, but not in the living room. It was really unusual. His footsteps echoed unnaturally through the hall, the way they do in empty houses. He called out.
"Anna? Ellie?"
Laughter erupted in his house. A man's deep voice.
He froze.
The sound came from the kitchen. He stepped in.
There she was, Anna. And with her, a man. He was in his mid-20s, chiseled jawline, shirt tight across his chest. The kind of man Brock used to be before life wore him down.
Anna looked up. No surprise on her face. Just... calm. Cold.
"Brock. Sit down."
She did not call him honey as she usually did. Brock's heart skipped a beat.
The man didn't move, didn't even try to hide the smug curve of his lips.
Brock's heart pounded like a hammer against a glass wall.
Anna pushed a file across the table.
Divorce papers.
"I'm tired of this charade," she said. "You were never home. You were married to your job, not me."
"But it was all for-"
She held up her hand. She looked at him in cold disgust.
"I never loved you, Brock. I stayed for the money. Now I'm taking what I deserve."
The air went still.
"I gave you everything," he whispered. "Every hour, every drop of sweat. It was all for you and Ellie."
"You were never there," she said, like she hadn't heard him. "Money can't replace presence."
Ellie walked in from the hallway.
His heart leapt.
'She'll take my side. She knows how much I've given. How much I love her.'
"Hey, Dad," she said softly. Her face was pale and sad.
Her eyes were red. She walked over, hugged him. "I'll stay with you... but just on weekdays, I'll visit Mom just on the weekends."
It was a compromise. A knife sheathed in sentiment.
In the end, he signed. Half went to Anna. The rest, into Ellie's name. It felt like bleeding out.
But he kept going. For Ellie. She still laughed with him, still asked about his day. He clung to that like a man drowning in a sea of regret.
The house was smaller now. Quieter. But Brock found peace in the silence. It hurt but it was clean and honest pain. Like scar tissue forming.
Until that day. That wretched day.
He got up early to make breakfast. Ellie had already left for university, but forgot her student ID on the kitchen counter.
Smiling, Brock tucked it in his coat pocket.
"She'll be happy I dropped it off," he muttered.
It was a small thing. A father's gesture. Proof he was still needed. That he was there for his daughter.
When he arrived at campus, he looked around. There she was across the courtyard.
His breath caught.
Ellie was sitting with Anna. And the man.
Laughing.
Not awkwardly. Not cautiously.
Comfortably.
He stepped closer, unnoticed behind the pillar.
The wind carried their voices.
"You're doing great. He has no idea, right? You are a really good actress, baby." Anna said while laughing.
"None. Honestly, it was easier than I thought. I mean, he was never around growing up. It's not like we were close. But I hate staying with that loser of a man anymore."
Anna smirked. "Well, we needed his money. You played your part perfectly, dear."
Ellie nodded, sipping her coffee.
"At least now I have enough to pay tuition and live easy. I don't even feel bad."
Brock couldn't move.
Every breath burned.
His world, already cracked, had finally shattered. He was done.
That Night, his house didn't feel like home anymore.
It was a cage. A reminder. Every photograph mocked him. Every echo laughed at his gullibility.
He sat in the dark for hours.
He thought about work.
About 17 years of breaking himself apart to build a dream someone else cashed in.
He thought about Ellie's tiny hands wrapping around his finger the day she was born.
About Anna's face on their wedding night, whispering forever.
About all of it being a lie.
He wrote no note.
There was nothing left to say.
In the garage, he found the rope.
It was almost poetic, the same rope he'd used to tie a swing for Ellie when she was five. The same one they used for camping, laughing under stars he'd nearly forgotten.
He tied it to the beam, tested the knot.
Climbed. He hesitated for a moment. His hands twitched.
Then let go.
'To be damned with this life.'
But the rope was old. His weight too much.
It snapped and he fell.
His body slammed into the ground with a sickening crack as he felt the world mock him one last time.
Metal bit into his side. Something long, sharp had buried itself deep under his ribs.
He couldn't scream. He only gasped and coughed as he yearned for death's sweet embrace.
Agony surged through every nerve in him.
He lay there. Bleeding, shaking and dying. Not from a clean fall, but a jagged, slow puncture into the guts of the earth.
It was messy.
It was real.
And no one was coming.
A neighbor smelled something rotten a week later and found him.
Police came. They had called Anna.
She didn't cry.
Ellie didn't even bother to show up.
The report was filed.
No foul play suspected.
Just another overworked man who couldn't handle the weight of his job and his failed family.