Hidden Desires - Family Secrets-Chapter 181 Justin, is that you? Part2

"Where the hell have you been, kid? Do you have any idea how crazy I’ve been going trying to find you?" The familiar voice of my old boss bellowed through the phone, as loud and commanding as ever.

I had been on the receiving end of his scolding many times before.

"Boss, I..." Hearing his familiar voice felt like being reborn after a long, terrible nightmare.

I was finally awake, and my words choked up with emotion.

"What do you mean ’I’? You have one hour to get your ass over here!"

He hung up abruptly, but not before I detected a tremble in his voice—a mix of happiness and excitement.

That call from my boss lifted all the weight off my shoulders.

All I wanted now was to see my colleagues and the brothers I had fought alongside.

As I stepped out of the car and entered the newsroom, under the sculpted gazes of my coworkers, I rushed to my boss’s office.

My excitement made me forget all decorum, and I burst through the door without knocking.

There he was, pacing nervously, cigarette in hand.

The moment he saw me, he dropped his cigarette and rushed over, grabbing my shoulders.

His lips quivered, struggling to speak.

I just smiled back, though my eyes were already moist.

I didn’t know how to explain everything to him, that some family shames are better kept within.

"No need to say anything. I know you well enough to understand that you wouldn’t disappear without a serious reason.

I won’t press you for details.

Just get back to work, you little rascal.

You had me so worried I had to file for a half-month’s leave on your behalf.

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Today was the last day; I didn’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t shown up," he said, his hands gently shaking my shoulders, his face a mix of joy and excitement.

Just then, I heard a commotion behind me.

Turning around, I saw a group of my brothers rushing towards me, their faces filled with excitement and tears, their expressions sincere.

It’s good to be back...

Two months later... I sat in my office chair, massaging my temples as my workday neared its end.

In these two months, I had gradually adapted to my new position.

A higher salary meant higher work pressure, but I was growing every day.

Now a senior executive, thanks to my boss’s efforts, I had swiftly taken up the role designated in my appointment letter and had performed solidly, earning the unanimous approval of the company’s upper management.

Standing up, I stretched, letting go of the tension.

It felt like shedding all the weight off my shoulders.

Picking up my briefcase, I walked out of the office.

Along the way, colleagues greeted me warmly.

During this time, they had been competing to take me out for meals, welcoming me back, almost drowning me in booze every night.

Whenever someone asked about my disappearance, I brushed it off with the excuse of a vendetta, a story my boss had concocted.

In our line of work, making enemies was common, and though the excuse was ambiguous, my colleagues didn’t pry much, and slowly, life moved on.

During that time, the days blurred into a haze of drunken revelry with my colleagues, singing and drinking daily.

It truly helped me unwind and gradually lighten the load I carried in my heart.

My spirits were slowly but surely lifting.

As I was lost in these reflections, my car pulled into our neighborhood.

I walked up to our apartment and opened the door to find Betty, as usual, waiting at the dining table for dinner.

In the past, Betty would finish work before me but never had dinner ready early.

I usually had to wait about half an hour after getting home to eat.

However, lately, every time I came home, a lavish dinner awaited me.

Betty had requested a transfer from her teaching position at the school to a less demanding lab supervisor role.

This wasn’t my idea but her own decision.

Originally, she was a dedicated teacher, and moving her to a lab position felt like a waste to the principal, who hesitated a lot before agreeing.

Betty had even threatened to quit to get her way.

The lab was only active during student lab sessions, mostly idle otherwise, leaving Betty plenty of downtime to manage and organize supplies.

This change was her way of adapting better to the role of a homemaker, ensuring she could be home earlier to cook dinner, a stark contrast to her previous late working hours as a teacher.

As I entered, Betty snapped out of her reverie and hurried to fetch my slippers.

Most days, she would be waiting by the door with slippers ready, having heard the key turn in the lock.

But occasionally, I’d find her lost in thought at the dining table, chin propped on her hand, deep in memories or thoughts so absorbing that she wouldn’t notice my arrival until I was well inside.

Betty might not have realized, but I was deeply concerned.

Her daydreaming, so intense that she didn’t hear me come in, suggested she was engrossed in thoughts, likely about Michael.

Our relationship was healing, but memories of her time with Michael, both good and bad, seemed to haunt her.

I often saw a melancholic expression on her face during these moments, rarely a joyful one.

If the memories were happy, they would probably involve our own better times, but it seemed Michael was the more likely subject of her thoughts.

I tried to bury these thoughts deep within me, as confronting Betty about them would be too harsh.

She seemed more relaxed than she had been two months ago, her speech more natural, though still tinged with a careful tenderness when she spoke to me.

I knew her job switch was meant to care for and make it up to me.

Teaching was her passion; she had spent countless nights preparing lessons.

She was deeply committed to her profession, but she had given it up for my sake.

We had stopped sleeping in separate rooms and now shared one, but there was still a slight barrier between us.

When we shared a blanket, I instinctively kept a distance from her body, and whenever Betty tried to embrace me from behind, I gently removed her arms.

The quiet sighs and soft sobs I heard from behind afterward were heart-wrenching.