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The Son of my sorrow

kalopssiiaa
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Haunted by a sense of purposelessness and the suffocating expectations that follow her journalism degree, Cassopia "Cass" feels invisible long before she actually is. Her deepest, most secret wish is not for fame or fortune, but to simply disappear. After a heartfelt confrontation with her family, she retreats to her grandmother's quiet country home to find herself, only to wake up one morning to a terrifying reality: her wish has been granted. She is completely, literally invisible to the world. After an initial rush of freedom—traveling unseen, taking whatever she pleases—the novelty curdles into a profound loneliness. Her invisible existence is just as empty as her old one, until she is drawn to the sound of a man's grief. She discovers Ben-Oni, a brilliant and handsome cardiologist tormented by the belief that he failed to save a patient. Drawn to his pain, Cass finds herself in his presence, only to discover the story's central twist: Ben-Oni is the only person on Earth who can see her. However, consumed by his own mortality and grief, he makes a startling assumption: Cass is not a lost young woman, but the Grim Reaper, sent to claim his soul. Finding a strange sense of purpose in his gaze, Cass makes the bizarre choice to play along. In exchange for "granting him more time," she becomes his silent, otherworldly roommate. In this strange cohabitation, a unique bond forms. He is the only one who sees her, and she is the only one who sees the vulnerable man behind the cold, professional mask. As she pretends to be Death, Cass begins to truly live for the first time, her journey of self-discovery now inextricably linked to his. Their fragile arrangement takes a profound turn when Cass, realizing her role has become more than a charade, asks him a life-altering question: "What do you want to do before you die?"
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Chapter 1 - The Unraveling

"Cass, Cass! If you could have a superpower, what would it be?"

The question has been a ghost at my heels since childhood, whispered during sleepovers and shouted across playgrounds. My friends' answers were always a kaleidoscope of comic book dreams: flight, superhuman strength, the ability to glow in the dark.

Mine was simpler. Quieter.

I just wanted to be invisible.

Even then, I think some part of me knew it wasn't about hiding. It was about saving myself, though I was never sure from what.

"I don't know," I murmured, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue.

I stood, brushing invisible dust from my skirt. My face wore its usual mask—half bored, half lost—a carefully constructed shield to hide the fact that my mind was always somewhere else. The others' laughter faded back into the ambient noise of their lives, but I was already gone, drifting on an internal current, far, far away.

Things were not going according to plan. My life felt like a train I was perpetually running behind, watching as everyone else found their seats. People my age were building careers, falling in love, becoming someone. My own becoming felt sluggish, mired in mud. I'd imagined that life after graduation would be a straight line to independence, a simple equation of work equals money. Six months with a journalism degree and a stack of rejection letters had taught me otherwise. The world didn't want my words.

It made the casual boasting of other parents a special kind of torture. My son, the lawyer. My daughter, the graphic designer. Meanwhile, my own mother's friends would look at me with pitying eyes. And at home, things were just as tense. My mom, Susan, and my sister, Alba, walked on eggshells around my moods. They wanted me to try, to just snap out of it, but how do you try when you don't even know what you're supposed to be trying for?

Invisibility. That was the answer. To move through the world unseen. To work and breathe and exist without the weight of expectation, without the constant, crushing question: What have you achieved?

Lost in these thoughts, my shoulder collided with something solid. A wall of muscle. I stumbled back, looking up at a giant of a man whose face was pinched with annoyance.

"Hey, watch it," he grunted, looking down at me. "Get a life. Daydreaming won't pay your bills."

"I'm so sorry," I mumbled, the apology automatic, fake. A flare of heat went through me. I wished I could hit him, a sharp, satisfying crack for every condescending word. But I just lowered my head and hurried on. By the time I looked up, the familiar architecture of my street had materialized around me. I hadn't even registered the journey home.

"How was your day?" Mom's voice came from the living room as the front door clicked shut behind me.

"It was great," I called back, the lie so practiced it felt like breathing. Who gets tired of making money? I thought with a bitter, internal laugh. My legs ached from pounding the pavement, from smiling at receptionists who had no jobs to offer.

I retreated to my room, a sanctuary that was beginning to feel like a cell. The tension with Mom and Alba was a thick, suffocating fog. They wanted me to behave, to be the daughter they recognized, but I couldn't even find an agreement with myself. My purpose was a blank page. The fear that my life would never be great was a constant, low-grade hum beneath my skin.

My mom is a single mother. I've seen the lines of exhaustion carved into her face from years of making a life for us. She deserved a daughter who could give her peace, who could change our lives. The guilt of my failure was a heavy cloak, and I wore it everywhere, reflecting my own misery back onto them.

"Cass? Cass," Alba called, her footsteps soft in the hall.

"What is it?" I snapped, the word sharper than I intended.

Her voice, when it came, was gentle, which only made me feel worse. "Mom and I… we want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Just… everything. Please come downstairs."

A sigh of defeat escaped me. "Fine."

I found Mom in her armchair, hands crossed tightly in her lap, a storm brewing in her eyes. My heart began to hammer against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. What is it? Does she hate me? Is she finally fed up with my behavior? What next, she tells me I was adopted by accident from a circus?" I rolled my eyes at my own ridiculous thoughts. Honestly, it wouldn't even be the weirdest thing today. But still… Why did I feel like a guest in my own life? Was I really that much to handle? Too lost, too much, too nothing?

"Cass?" Mom's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Were you saying something?"

"No. Nothing," I said quickly. "Why did you call me down? Did something happen?"

"Cass, I want you to sit down first." Her tone was solemn, final. I sank onto the sofa, feeling like a defendant awaiting sentencing.

She took a deep breath. "Cass," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "After your father and I divorced… I knew I could never fill that space for you. I know you hide how much it hurts. You swallow your feelings so that I won't feel bad, and I see you dying from the inside. I grew up without a father, too. I know what it's like to feel like there's an unsolved puzzle at the very center of you. I don't want you to repeat my story."

She leaned forward, her eyes pleading. "Life isn't a straight line, honey. It's not structured, not for anyone. Not even for those perfect people you see on social media. Everybody has their own war to fight. Success isn't about never falling; it's about not giving up. But you don't have to force it, not when you're still so young. You just have to find what makes you happy, no matter how long that journey takes."

Her composure finally broke. A tear traced a path through her makeup. "So, my dear… I want you to go away for a while. To your grandma's house. I want you to have the time and space to figure out what your happiness looks like, even if it means sacrificing everything else to find it. I want my happy daughter back."

The dam inside me broke. A sob tore from my throat as I surged forward and wrapped my arms around her. We clung to each other, crying for a solid ten minutes, a silent storm of shared pain and unspoken fears.

I was the first to pull back, my voice thick. "Thank you, Mom. I don't know what to say. You're so tired of hearing people talk about their successful kids, about how I'll end up…"

"Stop," she said, her voice firm but loving. "Your journey is not their journey. Don't you ever compare your path to anyone else's."

She kissed my forehead. I went back to my room and began to pack