Lucien Salverson loves to start his day with a hot cup of second-flush Darjeeling tea, paired with a couple slices of soft cheese. Later in the afternoon, he would resteep it for his mother, who prefers to cut the unpleasant flavor from a freshly used teabag. She would often lounge in the balcony adjacent to her bedroom, basking in the mid-afternoon sun. Sometimes she'd be in the backyard, sitting under the weeping willow tree, away from the prying eyes of neighbors.

This entirely depends on her mood: Balcony when she's in high spirits; backyard when the effects of Prozac doesn't kick in. And recently, she'd been spending more and more time in the backyard.

At first, this wasn't a cause for concern. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and seemed to be responding well to treatment. But the depressive state often lingered a bit too long.

It all began when the company she had built from the ground-up, slowly crumbled to pieces in just a matter of months. She watched it fall at her feet, and it happened all too quickly. Lucien thought she would go crazy by the end of the year, but she managed to stay sane after the deluge.

Or so he thought.

He hadn't seen the signs. Or maybe he chose to overlook them? But three days ago, it came crashing down before him.

That day, instead of serving the usual resteeped tea and a few helpings of fruits and nuts, Lucien prepared Lapsang and dark chocolate. Both were gifts from a former employee, but had been gathering dust in the pantry for weeks. He had spent a considerable amount of time steeping and rinsing the tea, hoping his mother would appreciate a new flavor.

It was a somber afternoon and he guessed his mother would be in the backyard. As he walked along the hallway leading towards the garden, he remembered checking the time on his watch: 3:00 PM. Not a minute too late.

From where he was, he could see a few branches of the willow tree swaying gently. He tilted his head towards the window and smelled that pleasant petrichor - the unmistakable scent of rain as it begins to fall on dry soil. Silver tray in hand, he made quick strides towards the backyard. His mother might have fallen asleep, like she always does.

Lucien opened the door towards the backyard. "Mom, I've prepared something new for you," he said cheerfully as he eased the tray out through the rickety door. He had been planning to call a carpenter to fix the hinges but he always ends up putting it off, just like pruning the overgrown forsythias, replacing the front-door lighting, and oh, handing over Ms. Carmella's final paycheck.

It was a terrible and desperate time.

He let out a deep sigh.

"I've carefully rinsed the tea. It's called Lapsang souchong. Actually, it's a gift from Mr. Monaghan. I thought it'd be a waste to just keep it lying around."

He gave the door a gentle push before finally turning around to face his mother. And just as he did, a terrifying sight petrified him. There, on the thickest branch of the willow tree, was his mother, a noose tied around her slender neck.

He was frozen in place, not daring to take a single step. His hands shook uncontrollably, the teacup making a violent rattling sound on the tray.

"Mom... Come on," he muttered, lips quivering. "This... This is a bad joke. Mom, please. It's... It's drizzling." He didn't know what else to say.

He couldn't see her face clearly from where he stood. The first hint of rain is here, and the raindrops falling on his face brought him back to his senses. He quickly dropped the tray on a nearby table and scampered towards his mother.

Where the fuck is Miss Carmella? I told her to keep her company! Did she forget to give Mom her meds again? Is she doing this on purpose since she's about to get sacked?

He moved close enough to see his mother's face hidden beneath the thick lush of auburn hair. She had always looked calm and she often smiled, albeit beguiling. Her cheeks and lips were always flushed pink, and her eyes were shockingly blue - features that always made heads turn.

But those delicate features are all but gone now. Her cheeks were pale, lips blue, and she had a blank stare. Lucien didn't know where exactly she was staring, however, because one of her eyes had nearly popped out from its socket, seemingly staring back at him.

"MISS CARMELLA!" Lucien screamed out as he averted his eyes from his mother. "Miss Carmella, come here right this instant!"

He nearly lost his balance as he bolted towards the door. He kept looking back at his poor mother, hoping it's not yet too late.

"I won't be long, Mom. I promise! I won't..." His voice cracked. "Wait for me!"

He grabbed the doorknob, pulled the door open. It didn't budge.

This goddamn door, I'll have you replaced tomorrow even if it's the last thing I fucking do!

"Miss Carmella!" he kept yelling as he gave the door a good kick, hoping the hinges would loosen up. With one strong pull, it finally pried open. Only that it hit him right across the face.

He felt the back of his head hit the stone-cold floor. Only the sharp pain lingered, and then there was complete darkness.

Lucien had no idea what happened next.

When Lucien finally regained consciousness, he had found himself in his bedroom. He lay unmoving for a full minute, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It was just a nightmare. It couldn't possibly be real.

He got up from bed and opened the windows to let the sunlight in. The room smelled faintly of mold. Ms. Carmella hadn't been doing the usual chores for the past few weeks. Well, it wasn't part of her duties to begin with. The person in-charge of bedroom cleaning had been sent away for over a month now.

He didn't want to live with it - this moldy, rotting, festering way of life. He has to find a way to get out of it. Escape from all of it, if he has to.

And then, he remembered his mother.

He felt a twinge from the back of his head. Could be the regular cluster headaches he'd been having since he started picking up where his mother had left off after filing for bankruptcy. She wallowed in shame and disappointment and when she did, she stopped showing herself to family, friends, and colleagues.

Lucien, being the only child, had to do everything in her behalf, which included paying off debts for the final chunk of bad investments she had made. They should at least end things without owing anybody a single penny.

It must have been past ten in the morning when he finally decided to step out of his bedroom to get some breakfast. He put on a robe and slowly made his way to the kitchen.

But instead of the welcoming scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttered toast, the whole place smelled strangely of flowers. He didn't particularly like this floral scent, though.

Carnation and chrysanthemum. It made his hair stand on end.

"Miss Carmella, what's this obnoxious smell?" he groaned as he waved his hand in the air, trying to whisk away the smell. "Please get rid of it, whatever it is."

No response. In fact, the whole place was eerily silent, it's starting to become unsettling. He looked for the servant in the kitchen but she wasn't there. No breakfast on the table, either. He tried to calm himself down, and was considering letting her go by the end of the week. This string of disappointments has got to stop.

Ms. Carmella was not in the laundry room nor was she in the maid's quarters, which she now has all to herself. Could it be that she decided to leave without getting paid?

He heard the faint sound of a woman crying, along with several muted voices. He tilted his head and realized the sound was coming from the living room. For a moment, he stood frozen. It's as if a part of himself didn't want to go. But he did anyway, because this is going to be his reality from now on.

A small group of people gathered in the living room, all of whom are familiar faces. Among others, there was his mother's elder sister Sherry, whom he hadn't seen since the beginning of the year - along with her husband and son. Some of his mother's most trusted (former) employees were there, too. And then there's Ms. Carmella, her eyes swollen and bloodshot.

They huddled around a finely polished metallic casket. But for a casket, the color was quite an eyesore - a sort of chrome black that screams moroseness.

"She wouldn't be happy with your choice. It looks... tacky," said Lucien, breaking the silence. Everyone turned to his direction.

Ms. Carmella sobbed even harder as she walked up and held him firmly by the arm. "Master, are you feeling better? You shouldn't be up and about just yet."

"My dear..." Aunt Sherry cut in. "I wish we could have seen each other again in a better situation. Honestly, I..." Her voice trailed off as Lucien walked towards the casket and the rest made way for him.

His mother looked as though she was just sleeping. She looked so solemn and peaceful. For a moment, the memory of her disfigured face crossed his mind. It's frustrating how the mind tends to keep the ugliest, most unpleasant memories in your head.

On the bright side, the mortician did a good job at restoring her delicate features. The only thing he didn't like was the color of her lipstick. She probably wouldn't want to get caught wearing such a vulgar color, even if she were dead.

Yet here we are.

Lucien put his hands inside his robe pocket. "So it's true. This is all real. She really did kill herself."

Ms. Carmella shot a glance at him and let out a whimper. "Master, please..." she said in a hushed tone.

All the pent-up anger was welling up inside him. Ms. Carmella knew better than to leave his mother alone. She had been on suicide watch for the past few months. He wanted to slap the old croon. Scream at her, curse her. Curse everyone in this room who's invading their family's privacy and hovering over his mother as if she were some sort of carnival attraction.

"All of you, please leave," Lucien simmered, his voice barely audible.

"What's that, dear?" asked his Aunt Sherry. She gently placed a hand on Lucien's shoulder.

"I think he's asking us to leave, Mom," said his cousin Edmund, sounding a little disgruntled.

"Please... All of you, leave now," Lucien said in a louder and firmer tone of voice.

"Jesus. You're still an obstinate prick, huh?" Edmund blurted.

Lucien clenched his jaw and glared at his cousin. "Leave or I'll bore a hole through that thick skull of yours."

"Come on, dear," Aunt Sherry pleaded as she glanced towards the other mourners. "There's no need for this display of hostility. As family, we should be united right now. Your Mom -"

"Stop with all this pretentious bullshit, Auntie," Lucien seethed through gritted teeth. "I know you and Mom never liked each other. You never even came to visit, much less give her a call when she needed your help. She practically had to beg you to spare her a minute of your time. Well, news flash for all of you here! Go back to where you came from and never come back. You won't get anything from us, not a single fucking cent. Now, be gone!"

"E - Excuse me," murmured the blonde-haired lady who was standing behind Edmund. He couldn't catch her name but he was certain she worked in the company's production department. It's hard to forget the elaborately coiffed hair she had always flaunted but right now, there were thin strands of hair sticking out of her ponytail and trailing over her shoulders. She looked like she came to the wake in a rush.

The lady stifled a cry and buried her face in a pink handkerchief, unable to speak for a moment. "We're just here to pay our respects to Madame. If you don't mind..."

Lucien felt a twinge of guilt and regret for saying such harsh words. He's always had a short fuse when it comes to his relatives. Most of them are just a bunch of hyenas who are only after the family fortune or the very few scraps they have left. It was because of them that he developed a cynical eye, and he almost forgot that there are still a few people who genuinely care for and respect his mother.

He sighed as he placed a hand on his forehead. "I'm sorry. Uhm. Thank you, I really appreciate you coming here," he said with a refreshing tenderness. He pushed his way between his aunt and cousin, smiling weakly at the blonde lady. "I would really like it if you -" He scanned his eyes towards the other former company employees. " - and the rest of you guys come back in two days to see Mom off."

"Two days?" His Aunt Sherry interjected. "Isn't that too soon? Aren't you going to wait for the rest of the family to come and -"

"In two days, Auntie," Lucien repeated himself vehemently. "Two days. No more, no less. The dead shouldn't be the one making adjustments for the living. Now, if you please..." He walked back towards the coffin. "I'd like a moment alone with Mom. So I'd like to kindly ask you all to leave. Please."

There were no further objections nor retorts from the guests, even from his aunt and cousin. Lucien didn't bother looking back at them, but he could feel their piercing gaze, like knives stabbing him on the back. Ms. Carmella politely ushered them towards the front door, bowed down her head as she muttered 'I'm so sorry for this' and 'Please understand' under her breath.

When the last of the guests had left, she walked back into the living room, still sniffling. Slowly and cautiously, she approached Lucien, who was sitting down by the couch next to his mother's casket. He was plucking the petals off a wilting carnation.

"I'll be leaving the day after the funeral," she said nonchalantly. "I've prepared all my things and called my son to come pick me up."

Lucien dropped the last of the petals and rubbed his hands together. "I'll just wire you your final paycheck before the end of the month, then." He shifted from the couch and crossed his legs. "You don't mind that, do you?"

"Master..." The servant's voice was filled with remorse. "T - That day, the Madame asked me to pick some azaleas from the front lawn. It was an unusual request, since she never liked flowers. And... I should have taken it as a sign. I was careless. And I'm... I'm sure you're blaming me for this."

"Yes. Yes, I do blame you, Miss Carmella," Lucien replied without reservations. He gave her a resentful look, one that made the old lady burst into tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm really, truly sorry..."

Lucien's lips quivered. And then, his expression softened. He looked up and heaved a sigh.

"Well... if it's any consolation, I'm to blame, too. The signs were glaringly obvious, you're either blind or stupid to not notice them. I guess I'm the latter." He gave a hollow laugh. "She cried for help so many times, but I chose to ignore them. What a clusterfuck it was, hmm?"

Ms. Carmella remained silent throughout his affirmation.

"So!" He straightened up and slapped his knees. "You can stop torturing yourself over something that's inevitable, Miss," he said with a forced smile. "It as as they say: There's no point crying over spilled milk."

He stood up and motioned towards the connecting hallway leading to the kitchen.

"I... I thought you should know something, Master," the servant called out to him. "At first, I thought it's just one of the Madame's usual ramblings, but... she sounded truly resentful of this one thing."

Lucien stopped in his tracks and looked back at her. "Something I don't know?"

"It could be nothing, but... it could also be something."

He crossed his arms. "Try me."

"Well... She kept mentioning this one company." Her eyes were moving, trying to remember something. "'Carmichael Tech' or whatnot."

Lucien shrugged. It didn't ring a bell. It's frustrating, but it piqued his interest. He sat back down on the couch.

"Well, what else did Mom say?"

Ms. Carmella cleared her throat and looked at Lucien with bloodshot eyes. "The thing is, the Madame kept blaming that company for everything that's happened recently. It's 'cause of that company that she had to drop everything. It's what she said."

Lucien felt a chill run down his spine. He couldn't believe what he's hearing. All this time, he thought it was just a series of miscalculations and investment risks gone wrong.

Mom, is this true? How come I don't know any of this?

He clenched his fists, feeling utterly helpless and clueless. "Please tell me more about this, Miss," he implored. He gritted his teeth, exasperated.

The two were immersed in a deep conversation for nearly a couple of hours. At first, the servant's story seemed incredulous but as the discussion went on, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, filling the gaps that were once mysterious to him.

He was quiet for the most part, listening intently to every word Ms. Carmella said. He would ask questions from time to time, and she would always get the answer he needed.

Lucien couldn't see the point why Ms. Carmella would weave such an intricate lie, or the reason his mother would keep such a big secret. For one, he is not emotionally unstable enough for her to keep this important piece of information to herself. If anything, it might have been the very thing that put a heavy burden on her.

What did she get herself caught up in?

As far as he knew, his mother didn't make enemies outside the family. Could it be that Carmichael Tech is owned by a relative seeking to crush their reputation? But from the sound of it, it's a pretty big company that somehow just randomly decided to put them into bankruptcy. And besides, it's impossible for his mother to just let someone from the family go and build what looked to be a corporate giant, right under her nose.

So the question remains: All of this, for what gain?