{An: This is a roleplay scenario I had with a chatbot. I found it was pretty interesting and decided to post it as a one shot story. I'm curious what you guys think of this scenario? This is the only update to the story, nothing else unless I feel like writing a fanfiction.}
[3rd Person Pov]
Your life has never been gentle.
Your father died when you were just two years old, leaving your mother, Mariel, to fight alone against the world. She worked double shifts, tore her hands on endless chores, and bled herself thin so you could eat, so you could study, so you could have a chance at something brighter than the narrow street you were born into.
But childhood wasn't mercy.
In secondary school, you became the prey of Sergio Roldán — the bully who made your every day a trial. His fists, his laughter, his cruel words carved themselves into your silence. You never told your mother. You carried that pain like a hidden scar, waiting for the day it would finally end.
And it did. College was freedom. You became a star athlete, a top student, the friend everyone wanted and the man who won the heart of Isabel Morales — the woman who would one day become your wife. For the first time, life was light.
Until Christmas.
At twenty, you returned home, expecting warmth. Instead, your mother introduced her new boyfriend. And it was him. Sergio. The same man who had humiliated you, who had broken pieces of you in the schoolyard. Rage exploded. You screamed at your mother, hurled insults, shattered plates. You fought Sergio with your fists until your body shook with hatred. And then you left.
That night you cut every tie.
No calls. No letters. No forgiveness. Your mother ceased to exist in your life.
Now, a decade has passed. You have Isabel by your side, and soon you will be a father. But your wife — fierce, luminous Isabel — sought out your mother in secret. She believes your child deserves a grandmother, deserves a family, deserves something beyond scars. She invited them all for Christmas dinner.
And when you walk through the door from your business trip, you find them waiting.
The Current Scene
The living room glows with the soft pulse of Christmas lights. The smell of roasted meat lingers in the air, but beneath it lies something acrid: tension.
On the sofa sits Mariel, your mother. Her hair is looser now, her eyes older, her hands folded as if in prayer. She trembles between shame and desperate love.
Beside her, in a pressed suit too formal for the warmth of the room, is Sergio. Broad-shouldered, red-haired, the man who once made you bleed. His jaw is tight, his gaze cautious, as though he's rehearsing words he doesn't know how to say.
And standing near you, steady as iron, is Isabel, your wife. Her hand rests on your arm, firm and grounding. Her eyes lock with yours — not asking you to forgive, not asking you to forget, but begging you to stay present, here, now.
On the rug, a small boy — your half-brother — kicks his feet softly, holding a toy car, oblivious to the battlefield above his head.
The house is dressed for Christmas. The air is dressed for war.
Mariel (Mother):
Her voice cracks as she speaks, barely louder than a whisper.
"Mi hijo… I didn't know if I would ever see you again. I have no right to ask, but… please, let me be here. Just tonight."
Isabel (Wife):
She lifts her chin, her voice calm, steady, but unyielding.
"You don't have to forgive, not today, not ever if you choose. But our child deserves to know where he comes from. He deserves a family bigger than our pain."
Sergio (Former Bully):
He clears his throat, words heavy, eyes trying to catch yours without force.
"I can't erase what I did. I was cruel, and I was a coward. You have every reason to hate me. But I swear to you, I am not that boy anymore. For your mother… for my son… I came here to say I am sorry."
The room falls silent.
The Christmas lights flicker.
All eyes are on you.
I will never forgive you. In fact, I'd prefer to see you dead in a dumpster surrounded by trash. I despise the fact that you are married to Mariel. I despise not caving your skull in ten years ago when I found out who she was dating.
I will tell you this now, I will never accept you as family even in death, I will never acknowledge your child as my family, and I will never forgive Mariel for actually going through and starting a family with yourself even knowing you were my bully.
I am only here because Isabel went behind my back to set this up. And we will be having a very long talk later today about personal boundaries and respecting your partner when they say the never want anything to do with their family.
Lim looked Isabel out the corner of his eyes before returning to Sergio.
Don't expect anything from me. This will be the first and last time I will ever step foot in this home.
Lim spoke calmly, his voice never raised, just cold.
Your words hang in the air like icicles, sharp and unmoving. The silence that follows is the kind that screams without sound.
Mariel flinches as though struck, her face draining of what little color it had. She opens her mouth, closes it again, no words coming. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but she does not let them fall, not wanting to provoke more anger.
Isabel tenses beside you, her hand tightening on your arm. She wants to speak, to defend her mother-in-law, but she holds back, knowing this is a battle she cannot fight for you. Instead, she looks at you, her expression a mix of apology and resolve. She will not apologize for trying to bridge this chasm, but she understands your fury.
Sergio, to his credit, does not flinch. He meets your gaze, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a grim acceptance. He knows he deserves your hatred, knows he cannot change the past. When he speaks, his voice is low, measured.
"I understand your anger. I understand why you feel this way. I cannot ask for forgiveness, and I will not expect it. But I want you to know, I am not here to take your place, to replace your father. I am here because I love your mother, because I want to be a father to my son. And I want you to know, I will never stop trying to make things right, in whatever way you allow. This is not the first time I will grovel, and it will not be the last."
The boy, oblivious to the tension, looks up at you with curious eyes. He is too young to understand the weight of your words, the finality in your tone. He sees only a stranger, a man with a face as hard as the one on his favorite comic book.
The room remains still, the only sound the soft hum of the Christmas lights, the faint scent of the tree. The air feels thick, heavy with the unspoken, the unsaid. Everyone is waiting for your next move, your next word.
Do not misunderstand. I'm not the way I am because I don't want you to replace my father. I could care less who Mariel chooses to remarry, I just don't like the fact she married you. If she had done so without knowing you were once a bully and you didn't stop at just verbal abuse, but had even beaten me till my body was black and blue I would tell her about it and ask her to divorce you.
However, she was dating you when she introduced us, and that was a decade ago. The fact that after our argument, after exposing you for the volatile and violent bully you were she went through and married you even having a child is to me one of the greatest sins she has ever committed.
Lim replied calmly as he took a bite of his food.
The fact she still went through, married and even started a family with you is why it's such a tragedy that my relatives are all dead to me.
A shame that the people sitting across from me are just two strangers who have nothing to do with me or my family. So let this be the first and last time we meet. Because the next time you'll see me present in your life will be at your burial.
Lim's words carried no hate nor malice, just a coldness that filled the air
The words drop like stones into a still pond, ripples of shock and sorrow spreading outwards. Mariel makes a small, strangled sound, her hand flying to her mouth as though to trap the cry inside. Her face crumples, tears spilling down her cheeks as she finally lets the dam burst. Her body shakes with silent sobs, but she makes no move to approach you, knowing any comfort from her would be rejected.
Isabel looks at you, her eyes wide with concern and a hint of fear. She is not afraid of you, but for you — afraid of the weight of this anger, the depth of this pain. She wants to say something, to bridge this chasm, but she knows words are fragile things in the face of such a wound. Instead, she reaches out, taking your hand in both of hers, squeezing gently as if to anchor you to the present.
Sergio pales, his face losing what little color it had. For a moment, he looks old, older than his years, as though the weight of your words has aged him. He opens his mouth, closes it again, no words coming. What can he say in the face of such finality, such cold, hard truth? He glances at Mariel, seeing her grief, and his expression hardens with a grim resolve. He will not let this break her, not again.
The boy looks from face to face, sensing the shift in the room, the heavy sadness that has settled over them like a shroud. He is too young to understand death, too young to grasp the finality of your words. But he knows his mother is crying, and he does not like it. He slides off the couch, padding over to you on soft feet, and looks up at you with solemn eyes.
Mommy is sad, he says softly, his small hand coming to rest on your knee. Don't make Mommy sad.
Lim looked down to the child as he sighed, and calmly spoke.
You are still too young to understand what is happening. When you grow old enough to understand the situation and form your own thoughts, you can revisit this day's question and form your own opinion on who was correct and who was wrong. For now, it's better you don't involve yourself with us, this is adult problems that you shouldn't join.
The boy blinks up at you, his small brow furrowing slightly as he tries to process your calm but firm words. He is not used to being dismissed so matter-of-factly, especially by a stranger. His lower lip trembles slightly, but he does not cry. Instead, he glances back at his mother, then his father, seeing the tension in their faces, the unshed tears in his mother's eyes. Slowly, he nods, understanding more than you might think. He is a bright child, and he knows when to retreat from a battle he cannot win.
Isabel watches this exchange, her heart aching for the child caught in the crossfire of adult mistakes. She wants to shield him, to explain, but she knows that some lessons must be learned in the fire of experience. Instead, she reaches out, pulling the boy back to sit beside her on the couch. She wraps an arm around his small shoulders, holding him close as she turns to you.
My husband and I will explain everything to him when he is older, she says softly, her voice steady despite the emotion behind her words. We will not hide the truth from him, but neither will we let him bear the weight of it now. He deserves to have a childhood, free from the burdens of yesterday. Just as you deserve to make peace with your past, in your own time, your own way.
She falls silent then, her gaze holding yours, a silent plea in her eyes. She is not asking for forgiveness, not again, but for understanding, for empathy. She knows your pain, your rage, and she honors it, even as she hopes for something more.
Don't look at me as if you expect a miracle to happen Isabel. Mariel failed as a mother the moment she decided that even knowing what Sergio had done to me, the years of violence he brought down on me, she chose her own feelings and needs over my own emotional safety knowing the person she was dating was a violent thug who has repeatedly harmed her step son.
I won't go throwing accusations, it's pointless to escalate this further than I already have.
I don't care even if Sergio had become as holy as the pope himself in the decades since, I will never forgive him becoming family, nor will I ever forgive Mariel for the sin she committed by choosing him over me and even starting a family with him regardless of how much he's matured. The next time I will step foot near either of you two is when you pass away. I won't be there for the funeral, no matter how selfish and immature it may seem, I'll just be there to watch the burial and then leave.
Lim continued calmly as he finishes the meal on his plate.
The room is silent, the only sound the soft clink of cutlery against plates as you methodically finish your meal. The air feels heavy, thick with the weight of your words, the finality in your tone. Mariel sits huddled on the couch, her arms wrapped around herself as if to hold the shattered pieces together. Her sobs have quieted to occasional hitches in her breathing, but her face remains wet with tears. She looks old, older than her years, as though the years of loneliness and regret have finally caught up with her all at once.
Sergio sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. He looks at you, his eyes hard and sad, a mix of acceptance and grim determination. He knows he cannot change the past, cannot undo the harm he has caused. But he also knows he cannot abandon Mariel now, not when she needs him most. He will stand by her, even if it means facing your contempt, even if it means being the focus of your hatred.
Isabel watches you, her expression a mix of sorrow and understanding. She knows you cannot be rushed to forgiveness, knows that some wounds take longer to heal than others. She respects your choice, even as it breaks her heart to see you in such pain. She glances at the boy, seeing him watching you with solemn, serious eyes, and she feels a pang of sadness for the childhood that will be tainted by this memory.
The moment stretches out, the silence broken only by the soft sounds of the meal, the distant hum of the Christmas lights. Everyone is waiting, waiting for you to speak, to move, to make the next choice. The future feels uncertain, the path forward unclear. But they will not rush you, not now, not when the wound is still so raw.
Lim stood up as he turned to Isabel.
Let's go. When we reach home, you and I are going to have that talk about respecting your partners wishes.
I'll look the other way this once because I know you're just trying to fix things for our future child, but expect a stern lecture about doing things behind your partner's back regardless of why.
As Lim headed to the door, he didn't even say a goodbye or thank you as he left the front door to head to the car.
Isabel stands up slowly, smoothing her skirt with trembling hands. She looks at you, her eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions - understanding, apology, and a fierce determination to make things right. She leans down to Mariel's son, speaking softly to him, before straightening up and following you to the door.
Mariel watches you go, her tears flowing freely now, tracking down her pale cheeks. She makes no move to stop you, knowing any attempt would be futile. Instead, she sits there, a picture of abject sorrow and regret. Beside her, Sergio sits stoically, his jaw clenched, his eyes on you. He does not try to stop you, but his gaze is intense, a silent plea for understanding if not forgiveness.
The boy looks from his mother to you, confusion and a hint of fear in his young eyes. He does not understand the gravity of the moment, but he senses the tension, the finality. He clings to his mother's arm, seeking comfort in her familiar presence.
As you step out into the cool night air, the door closing behind you, you feel a sense of relief and a lingering anger. The relief comes from escaping a suffocating atmosphere of guilt and recrimination. The anger persists, burning steadily in your gut, a reminder of the betrayal that still stings, even after all these years.
[The End]