Chapter 7 Chapter 7: You're not welcome here

Milo

I always felt more like an unpaid laborer than a family member on that farm. I was their only son, yet they barely seemed to notice me.

They had noticed my absence, just not in the way I had hoped.

"I left you money before I left, and I told you that you could hire temporary help for production," I said nervously.

"Temporary help?" my father repeated, his anger rising. "Do you think we’re rich, kiddo?"

"I didn’t say that. I just – "

"We lost an entire batch of cheese because I had to do everything myself while you were off pretending to be some stupid veterinarian."

His words hit me like stones, but I was too exhausted to keep lowering my head the way I used to.

"I’m not pretending," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "I earned a huge scholarship so I could study and stop being a burden to you. I want to become a veterinarian and help the farm."

My father slammed his hand against the table hard enough to make the glasses shake.

"Stop being a burden? You’ve always been a fucking burden! You were a skinny, lazy little boy who never looked or acted like the other boys in town. Look at the Williamses! Their son works day and night! Even the Hernández family has a boy and a girl who would do anything for their land!"

"Mom..." I tried to get help, hoping someone would understand my side of things.

But she turned toward me and pointed the wooden spoon in my direction.

"Your father almost lost his foot while working, and you were off having fun with your friends at college. I felt anger twisting together with fear.

"I wasn’t having fun. I was studying constantly to keep my scholarship, and I came back to help however I could."

"And it still wasn’t enough. You should’ve been here! Stupid brat!" my father growled.

"We can't save this farm!" I finally exploded. "I’ve been telling you for years that you need to hire people or change the way you work. This isn't sustainable anymore!"

The silence that followed was unbearable. My mother looked at me as though I had just betrayed them.

Meanwhile, my father pushed himself to his feet using his crutches.

“So now you come here telling me how to run my own house, is that so, kiddo?” he said, slowly moving toward me. "After abandoning us like an ungrateful son? How dare you?"

"I didn’t abandon you," I answered, feeling my hands tremble. "I tried to build a life for myself because I didn’t want to be trapped here forever."

"Of course, because you think you’re too good for us."

"That’s not what I said!"

"But it’s what you think, isn´t it?" I felt my heart pounding against my ribs as I took an instinctive step backward. “What you wanted was to run away because you’ve always been lazy and selfish,” he spat. “You were never made for real work.”

I felt rage climb my throat like fire. "I've worked here since I was a child! and it's never been enough for either of you!"

"You always did everything wrong."

"Because I was just a child!"

The slap came so fast that I barely saw it. His hand crashed against my face with brutal force, sending me stumbling to the floor beside the table. I tasted blood in my mouth while I heard my mother shouting somewhere in the distance. My head rang painfully.

"Stop fighting!" she screamed.

He never listened to her. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, hauling me halfway off the floor, and fury burned in his eyes.

“But that’s not even the worst part,” he said, staring at me with hatred. “Now I have to listen to the idiots in town laughing at me. They’re calling my son a faggot."

The air vanished from my lungs.

"What...?"

"I want to know if it’s true. Tell me..."

I couldn’t answer. Fear had completely paralyzed me. Suddenly, I was four, seven, and fifteen again, trapped inside that house with no way out. His fingers tightened painfully in my shirt.

“Is it true that you’re gay? Do you like to fuck men?”

My silence was answer enough. The second blow knocked me against the table. He had always been bigger than I was, and his rage seemed to make him even stronger. Agonizing pain shot through my shoulder when my arm struck the wood at an unnatural angle. A sickening crack echoed through me, and I immediately knew something was wrong.

When I tried to move my arm, a sharp wave of pain forced a gasp from me.

“I don’t want a pussy son under my roof! If you are not going to be useful, then get out of here!” he roared.

My mother kept yelling at him from the kitchen, but by then, I could barely understand her. Everything spun around me as I lay on the floor, struggling to breathe.

Eventually, my father stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

I stayed there for several minutes, curled up, my shoulder burning, fighting not to cry. Crying only made things worse. My mother always said it solved nothing.

Eventually, she appeared in front of me, looking exhausted, as if she were the true victim in all this.

“Milo, you need to stop provoking him.”

I stared up at her from the floor in disbelief.

“Provoking him?” She sighed wearily.

"Your father is under a lot of stress, and you come in here and argue about everything."

“He hit me!"

"Because he’s desperate. Things are very bad right now, and we need help. The least you can do is cooperate before things get even worse."

In that moment, I understood something horrible:

She was never going to protect me. She never had.

She didn’t even turn to look at me.

I climbed the stairs, holding my arm tightly against my chest, and felt stabbing pain shoot through my shoulder with every step. When I opened the door to what had been my bedroom, I froze.

Or rather, what used to be my bedroom.

It was now filled with boxes, old tools, feed bags, and piles of junk. My bed was gone, and there was barely any trace that I had ever lived there.

They had turned my room into a storage space.

It was as though I no longer existed.

An unbearable emptiness spread through my chest as I searched through the mess.

I slowly sank to my knees, trying to ignore the pain in my arm.

My whole life had been like this. I tried to take up as little space as possible.

I tried not to bother anyone.

I tried to be enough for people who were supposed to love unconditionally, but they never did. Still, some part of me came back, hoping to find something different.

Something better.

I had to leave this place and never come back.

Where was I supposed to go?

I sat on the floor, thinking about that and crying silently, where no one could see me.