The bright daylight poured through the tall windows of the funeral hall, reflecting off the light marble floor.
An arrogant woman dressed in a black dress and a matching black veil stood near the dark wooden casket, her face twisted in anger.
She glared down at a seven-year-old boy wearing faded suspenders, who was holding a small wooden toy car in his hands.
Evelyn: YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!
The little boy backed away slightly, holding the toy car tighter against his chest as tears filled his eyes.
Leo: HE TOLD ME TO COME! MY FATHER MADE THIS!
Evelyn scoffed, her cold voice echoing through the silent room filled with relatives in black suits.
Evelyn: Don't lie, you little street urchin. Raudin would never invite someone like you to his service.
Leo: It's not a lie! He carved my name on the bottom of my car!
On the underbelly of the wooden car, the hand-engraved inscription read: "Raudin, 1950-2026."
A tall man in a dark suit stepped up behind Evelyn, looking at the boy's face with a shocked expression.
Mark: YOUR FATHER?!
Evelyn: Mark, ignore him. He's just trying to steal money from your father's estate trust!
In a sudden burst of rage, Mark stepped directly into Evelyn's space and swung his hand back with full power.
A sharp slap cracked through the quiet funeral hall as his palm hit her cheek.
Evelyn's head snapped back, her veil shifting as she stumbled back against the flower stands, clutching her red, burning cheek.
Evelyn: YOU SLAPPED ME?!
The crowd of guests gasped loudly, murmuring among themselves.
Mark: HOW DARE YOU TREAT MY BROTHER LIKE THAT! GET OUT OF MY FATHER'S FUNERAL!
Mark knelt down in front of the shaking boy, placing a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder while tears welled up in his eyes.
Mark: YOU BELONG HERE, LITTLE BROTHER. WELCOME HOME.
Evelyn pulled her veil down over her face, turning around and fleeing through the front glass doors out into the bright daylight.
Mark picked up the little boy, holding him close beside their father's casket as the guests watched in total disbelief.
The boy looked down at the wooden car in his small hands, clutching the only piece of his father he had left.
Mark held his breath, looking into the eyes of the child his father had kept hidden for seven years.