Declared Dead By My Family, I Returned From Hell

I knew that if I kept causing trouble, I would never be allowed to leave.

So I learned how to behave. I took my medication on time, cooperated with every therapy session, and followed the treatment plan without resistance.

Little by little, their vigilance eased.

On the day I was finally discharged, Philip came to pick me up himself.

Celeste sat in the passenger seat, while my sister sat beside me in the back.

The car drove on in silence for a long time before Trisha spoke, her tone casual, almost offhand.

“Nathan,” she said, “the last time we visited you, you had already signed the divorce papers. This morning, Celeste and Philip officially registered their marriage.”

She lifted her phone and waved it in front of me.

On the screen was their wedding photo.

A wave of dizziness washed over me. I could not remember signing anything. There was no memory of it, not even a fragment.

“Stop the car,” I said.

“Nathan...” Trisha frowned impatiently. “Can you stop making a scene? Look at Philip. He has always been steady and reliable. No wonder Mom and Dad decided to hand the entire company over to him.”

My hand shot forward, gripping the back of the front seat so tightly my fingers ached.

“What about my shares?” I demanded.

Celeste turned around to face me. Her voice was still gentle and controlled.

“Nathan, you didn’t have legal capacity while you were ill. Mom and Dad were worried about you, so they temporarily entrusted your shares to Philip for management.”

“That was my life’s work.” I stared at the back of Philip’s head, fury surging through my chest.

He let out a scoffing laugh.

“Nathan, you don’t have that kind of ability,” he said lightly. “Wouldn’t it be better to just live comfortably as a rich idler?”

I looked at everyone in the car.

My wife.

My so-called brother.

My sister.

“Stop the car,” I said quietly. “Or else.”

Before anyone could react, I lunged forward and grabbed Philip by the hair, yanking hard.

He slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road.

I flung the door open and jumped out.

Before walking away, I turned back and fixed them with a cold stare.

“Things that belong to me aren’t that easy to take.”

I still had friends in Boston, brothers I had grown up with. I tracked them down, scraped together what money we could, hired the best lawyer I could afford, and led a group straight to the company.

I was going to take back everything that belonged to me, but the police arrived before I ever got the chance.

I was stopped at the company entrance. One by one, my calls stopped going through. The money we had pooled together vanished from my account without a trace.

Philip eventually walked out, surrounded by bodyguards.

He looked at me the way one might look at a joke.

“Nathan,” he said lightly, “after all these years, how are you still this naive?”

I was driven away like a stray dog.

That night, I went to a bar.

Glass after glass, I drank, trying to drown everything.

When I woke up, my head felt like it was splitting. Beside me lay a heavily made-up woman I did not recognize.

Before I could even piece things together, the door was slammed open.

Celeste and Philip stood in the doorway, my parents and sister behind them.

A swarm of reporters surged forward, cameras raised.

Flashbulbs exploded, nearly blinding me.

I rolled out of bed, humiliation burning through every nerve.

My father struck my back with his cane.

“Get him tested immediately,” he snapped. “I won’t have him bringing some disease back with him.”

When the test results came out, the hospital ward fell into dead silence.

That woman had HIV.

And on my report, the same three letters stared back at me.

“Self-degradation,” my mother spat before turning away, never looking back.

My sister dumped an entire basin of cold water over my head.

“You’re disgusting,” Trisha screamed. “Don’t ever say you’re my brother again!”