This Son-In-Law Won’t Forgive

007

Lucas scanned the morning market, taking in the bustling crowd and the tempting aromas filling the air. He quickly found his way to a popular fried dough stand, greeted by the familiar smell of fresh, hot dough sticks sizzling in the fryer.

“I’ll take ten orders,” Lucas said, handing cash to the vendor.

The vendor, an older man with a skeptical look, raised an eyebrow. “Ten orders? You sure about that?”

“Positive,” Lucas replied, his stomach already rumbling. “I’ll pay upfront.”

As he waited for his order, a small group approached the stand. An elderly man, pale and frail but with a lively gleam in his eye, led the group. Beside him was a handsome young man with an air of impatience, a stern-looking middle-aged man, and a little girl, who looked no older than seven, clutching the elderly man’s hand.

“Grandpa, maybe skip the fried dough,” the young man urged, glancing worriedly at the elderly man. “Greasy food isn’t good for you.”

The elderly man waved him off with a laugh. “A few sticks won’t hurt. I’m not dead yet!”

He stepped up to the vendor, ordering loudly, “Four pounds of fried dough sticks and some tofu pudding, please!”

The vendor frowned, shaking his head. “Sorry, sold out. Last orders are going to this gentleman here.” He gestured toward Lucas.

The young man’s face soured, and he eyed Lucas up and down, a hint of arrogance flashing in his eyes. “Can’t you spare some of your order for us?”

Lucas gave him a flat look. “Sorry, but I need all of it.”

The young man bristled, folding his arms. “You’re really going to refuse an old man a bit of breakfast?”

Lucas shrugged. “He shouldn’t be eating this much fried food anyway. With his health, it’s risky.”

The middle-aged man’s gaze turned sharp, and he stepped forward, anger flashing in his eyes. “Watch your mouth! Cursing an old man like that, you have no respect.”

Lucas met his glare evenly, his tone calm but firm. “It’s not a curse—it’s a fact. Greasy food is dangerous for someone in poor health.”

The elderly man raised his hand, signaling the others to calm down. “Let it go,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Everyone’s got a right to their opinion.”

At that moment, the vendor suddenly scooped up half of Lucas’s order and handed it over to the elderly man. “Don’t worry, sir. Here, take some of his,” he said, ignoring Lucas’s protests. “He hadn’t paid for it yet anyway.”

Lucas clenched his jaw, a flicker of annoyance passing over his face. He paid for the remaining half of his order, his expression unreadable. The vendor gave him a condescending look, clearly assuming Lucas was powerless to do anything about it.

“Better watch yourself, buddy,” the vendor muttered as Lucas turned to leave. “People like you can get into trouble real easy.”

Lucas ignored the man, keeping his head down and focusing on leaving without a scene. But just as he was about to step away, he heard a sharp gasp.

The elderly man’s hand flew to his chest, his face contorting in pain as he staggered, clutching his chest. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, his face ashen.

“Grandpa!” the little girl screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. The young man and the middle-aged man—Ethan and Ryan, judging by their frantic shouts—dropped to their knees beside the elderly man, panic etched on their faces.

“Help! Somebody help!” Ethan yelled, his voice breaking.

Ryan’s hands shook as he tried to support the elderly man. “Stay with us, sir! Don’t… don’t go!”

The little girl sobbed, clinging to her great-grandfather’s arm, begging him to wake up. The once arrogant and dismissive crowd now stood frozen, stunned by the sudden turn of events.

The vendor, too, was visibly shaken, his earlier smugness replaced by shock. He stared at Lucas, eyes wide, as if realizing he might have made a terrible mistake.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Ryan shouted, his face pale. But there was no response from the paralyzed crowd.

Lucas sighed, stepping forward and kneeling beside the elderly man. “Move aside,” he instructed calmly.

Ethan looked up at him, a mixture of hope and suspicion in his eyes. “Can you… can you help him?”

Without answering, Lucas pressed his fingers to the elderly man’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was faint and irregular, but there. Good, he’s still got time, Lucas thought.

“Ethan, was it?” Lucas asked, his tone steady. “Hold your grandfather’s head up. Ryan, press down gently on his chest. You need to keep his airway open.”

The men scrambled to follow his instructions, their earlier hostility forgotten in the face of their desperation.

Lucas looked over his shoulder. “Does anyone have a small knife or needle?”

A woman from the crowd hurried forward, handing him a small pocket knife. With swift precision, Lucas took the elderly man’s right foot and pricked his big toe, squeezing until a few drops of blood emerged. To the crowd’s amazement, the blood had a faint bluish tint.

Lucas glanced at the vendor. “Now you see why I said he shouldn’t have fried dough.”