Chapter 17: The Fragility of Life and Human Plans

“Family is not an important thing. It’s everything.” 

— Michael J. Fox

Nine grueling months have passed since Alex, with a worn backpack on his shoulders and the echo of his stepbrother’s "grand promises" ringing in his ears, stepped into the gray expanse of Dublin, where the reality of life struck with earthy, unadorned promises, silencing his dreams. His stepbrother’s treacherous snare to "envelop" him with false generosity felt like an iron noose, one Alex knew all too well and swiftly cast off with silent fury. "You will eat from my table and obey what I command you to do," Deividas declared with a spiteful tone, his words dripping with the syrup of domineering manipulation. On that first night in Dublin, Deividas’s mask of hospitality fell after just three hours, when Alex, clutching his dignity like a shield, fled to a hostel, only to learn the next day that it was his parents and his stepbrother’s grandparents, still in Lithuania, who had orchestrated their reunion. Though the future loomed misty and threatening, Alex made himself a promise that no domestic conflict could shatter. Now, after six months of grinding labor as a groundworker' at demolition company and careful saving, Alex finally had something to show for it. His son Vilhelm's baptism was weeks away, and for the first time since leaving Lithuania, he felt the warm glow of achievement. Perhaps this was why his mother had insisted, "Honor your commitment. Show them what you're made of."

On the same day in which Alex was scheduled to a new Dublin construction site—he was standing at the bottom of an excavator pit on a merciless demolition site, transforming the landscape into a graveyard of concrete, twisted metal and copper wiring. An enormous excavator that was meticulously consuming in the crusher remnants of a brand-new, now-former office complex dwarfed. His new task was simple yet demanding: clearing rubble and separating gnarled iron wiring from fractured concrete slabs.

The city hummed indifferently in the distance while dust clouded the air. Alex's mind drifted to Vilhelm's upcoming baptism and Anatig's smile and well deserved holidays in two weeks he'd finally be reunited.  The dream exploded unexpectedly like the shards of a shattered bottle, as a sudden, terrifying shadow stretched over him, heralding doom. Time froze into a torturous, horrifying slowness, each heartbeat resounding like a death knell. A massive concrete block, like a hammer of fate, slipped from the excavator’s iron jaws, while Alex’s treacherous body trapped him in place, though his mind screamed in a desperate wail to flee. The impact rolled in like a hellish wave—first a sharp pain pierced his shoulder, then an insurmountable, crushing weight bore down on his left leg, as if the earth itself conspired to swallow him whole. His scream tore through the site, not in his own voice, but as the agonized howl of a wild beast, seeming to rise from some primal depth within. In that searing moment of pain, a bitter realization crashed over him: his first day on the construction site, no introductory safety briefing, no proper protocols. Just another immigrant worker ground into the ravenous machinery of Dublin’s building trade. ‘And again, only his fucking luck!’ A familiar taste of defeat filled his mouth, bitter with a coppery tang on his tongue. Always the same cycle—one step forward, two steps back, as if some cosmic force resolved to keep him stagnant the moment he felt a glimmer of hope. Neither too much joy nor too many moments of happiness, Alex felt cursed.

The wait in the hospital corridor stretched into an endless abyss, a grim hallmark of Ireland’s immigrant reception. Six hours felt like an eternity as his leg cried out for attention. "No available rooms," the doctor declared, discharging him with five X-ray images, a broken leg, and a painkiller prescription laced with an illegal dose of sedatives. Alex hesitated not a moment—changed tickets, a flight to Lithuania with a fractured leg that didn’t dampen the holiday spirit there. True healing plaster and a mended bone took half an hour and cost 200 euros. The two weeks of holiday slipped by in a fleeting blur, both a necessary respite and a vital restoration, yet Alex knew he must return to Ireland. He had already planned with Anatig, long before the accident, that they would move to Dublin together.

Back in Ireland, the company he worked for scrambled to rush through paperwork, pressing him to sign while showering him with reassurances that his basic salary would remain intact during recovery. Yet a sinister ache began to gnaw at his foot, a suspicious pain that whispered of deeper trouble. No hospital in Ireland would heed his pleas—each one turned him away, coldly directing him back to Lithuania for a proper check The cast, once a mere bandage, morphed into a suffocating symbol of his helplessness, clinging to him like a second skin. Then, four months later, when the same hospital callously claimed no record of his visit, something deep within Alex shattered—a raw, primal fury igniting amidst the fog of betrayal. In that moment, he finally understood the rushed dismissal from the hospital four months ago, a reckless abandonment devoid of proper procedures, and his company’s frantic rush to smooth things over, a calculated move to bury their negligence.

In one of Dublin’s parks, alone and torn apart by frustration and shame, futilely searching for help that never came, he bought the largest scissors from PoundShop and tore off the cast himself, choking through tears of despair while swallowing the pain alongside his shattered pride. He went back to work and more severe complications started soon after—the limping, the chronic pain, the dawning realization that this injury might be permanent. Each step forward brought new revelations: his stepbrother's sudden promotion to safety officer, his stepfather's determination to immigrate and work in the same company, the company's deaf ears to his requests for physiotherapy, the whispered conversations that stopped when he entered the canteen on the breaks.  Then one evening when light filtered through his window as Dave's voice crackled through the phone speaker. Anatig moved closer, her presence both comfort and witness to what was about to unfold. Each word from Dave felt like another load added to the concrete block that had crushed his foot—family loyalty, immigrant status and his stepfather's sacrifices.

""Hello?" Alex's voice was groggy from painkillers.

"Finally picked up. Listen, we need to talk about this lawsuit thing. Dad is mentioning it…” Dave's voice crackled through the speaker.

"It's late…” - said Alex.

"Yeah, well, some of us are working overtime to cover your shift. Since you're not here."  Sarcastically said Dave. A pause. The distant sound of machinery.

"Dad's worried too, you know. He just got here, and you might destroy everything for him. Is that what you want?"

Alex shifted in the bed, phone clutched against his ear.

"The company needs to be held accountable—look where I am now, taking sick leave because I can’t walk normally."

"Accountable?" A bitter laugh. "For what? You're daydreaming? Everyone saw you standing there like a bloody statue. What was so important you couldn't watch where you were going?"

"That's not—" Alex felt trying to justify himself, but was interrupted.

"You know what Dad sacrificed to get here? Everything. Every single thing he owned back home. And now his son—his stepson—is going to destroy it all because he couldn't keep his head out of the clouds?"

The rising adrenaline from his heart increased. Alex swallowed hard. "Dave, they didn't follow safety protocols—"

"And you think anyone will care about that? You think they'll look at anything except the immigrant workers, who want to get some money? Dad will be the first one they let go. Then you, then everyone else from Lithuania, including me. Is that what you want? To send us all packing because you couldn't pay attention for five minutes?"

The silence stretched between them. Anatig, who had made her way to other room, turned to Alex with a look of concern.

"Look," Dave's voice softened, almost sympathetic. "Cherry’ came to me. They're willing to be generous. Medical bills covered. Three months' paid leave. Off the books. Everyone keeps their jobs. Everyone wins." He paused. "Or you can be the guy who destroyed his family right before his son's eyes. Your choice."

Alex stared at the ceiling, his foot throbbing.

"I need time—"

How much time do you think we have? Some chances only come once, Alex. Just like some families."

"No." Alex's voice hardened, surprising even himself. "You don't get to decide for me."

"What—" Dave surprised hearing Alex raising his voice

"You know what the doctors said? I might not ever walk properly again! Never run with my son. Never climb stairs without pain. Every single morning for the rest of my life, I'll wake up remembering that day."

"But the family—"

"The family?" Alex's laugh was sharp, bitter. You want to talk about family? I am thinking about family. About my son growing up knowing his father stood up for what's right, not what's easy."

"You're being selfish—"

"Selfish?" Alex’s heart accelerated with rising anger. "No, selfish is asking someone to sacrifice their future to cover up corporate negligence and your sweet spot. Selfish is playing the family card while I'm the one who is suffering. You want to talk about your dad’s job? Talk to the company, you and Cherry…best safety buddies now, aren't you? I'm done carrying everyone else's guilt."

"You'll regret this—" Dave murmured in frustration.

"If I do, it'll be my regret. My choice. My life." Alex's voice steadied. "I'm choosing myself. Goodbye, Dave.” 

The evening settling over Dublin as he ended the call felt different now—not just another night, but the first evening of choosing his own path. His foot throbbed with each heartbeat, a reminder of what this choice would cost him. But for once, the pain felt like a badge of honor rather than a mark of shame.

Six months later, Alex signed the settlement papers. Determined to take his family back to Lithuania and start fresh, the compensation figure seemed to mock him—enough to start fresh, but not enough to heal the deeper wounds this fight had carved into his family's fabric.  His mother hadn't spoken to him in weeks, her silence more cutting than any words of disappointment she could have offered. Her husband just got fired from the job and it is Alex fault. His stepfather’s final words of mockery as he left for the airport, “Look, hope you’re happy.”

"You've torn this family apart," Dave spat during their last encounter, "and for what? He never heard from Dave again. 

It suddenly dawned on Alex, it wasn't about the immigrant's expected gratitude, or the silent endurance of injustice, or even maintaining family peace at all costs. It was about standing firm when the easier path seems more rational, even when that path was hardened with family expectations and cultural obligations.

The flight back to Lithuania carried more than just his physical presence—it carried the gravity of choices that had redefined everything he knew about his reality and the closes people in it. Alex felt devastated and alone; those who condemned his selfishness were the closest people he knew. Yet as Alex watched Vilhelm sleeping peacefully during the flight, his tiny hand clutching his father's finger, he felt something beyond the guilt and doubt. His son would grow up understanding that some prices are worth paying for what's right, that family love shouldn't come with conditions, and that dignity isn't a luxury to be bartered away. Anatig squeezed his hand, her eyes reflecting both concern and pride. "What now?" she whispered as the plane descended through Lithuanian clouds, their shadows dancing across her face. Alex studied his wife's reflection in the window and replied, “The settlement money will last a while…you always wanted to be a makeup artist.  You like painting people's faces and you’re good at it.  Why don't you pursue that, Anatig?”

Alex, I—" she started, but he caught her hand, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers.

"You've spent years being strong for us, watching over Vilhelm," he said, watching their son sleep peacefully between them. "Maybe it's time we both stopped running from what we really want. I’ll figure out what I will do,” he said, knowing that he had no clue what he wanted to do because he was never there for himself.

The familiar streets of Kaunas appeared below, and with them, the first stirrings of a new purpose. The pilot's voice crackled through the cabin announcing their final descent. Anatig looked at him squeezed his hand, her eyes bright with unshed tears and possibilities. "Maybe," she whispered, "we both need to learn how to paint new faces on old fears. 

Alex gently smiled.  He realized that coming home wasn’t an ending at all—it was just the beginning of a different kind of fight.

 NEXT WEEK! Chapter 18: Home Sweet Home

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