The Prodigal Son Returns: How Betrayal Led to Ruin
Oliver was sprawled on the sofa, glued to another episode of his favourite series, when his father walked in. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his voice:
“Son, we need to talk.”
“Go on then,” Oliver muttered, not looking away from the screen.
“Emily came to see me. Says you’ve been acting strangely lately. Anything wrong?”
“Everything’s fine,” Oliver brushed him off.
“Fine?” William quietly picked up the tablet from the table, pulled up a photo, and turned it towards his son. Oliver glanced—and froze.
Once, William and Margaret had been the picture of a perfect couple—they’d built a business together, shared every step of life, and finally, at thirty-eight, had their long-awaited son. Oliver was adored, spoiled, raised without discipline. He grew up entitled, selfish, and lazy.
After barely scraping through university—thanks to his parents’ money—Oliver announced he was tired. He refused to work, insisting, “There’s plenty of money anyway.”
William pushed for independence, but Margaret defended her son:
“Let him have a break. He’ll have to work hard soon enough.”
Her husband just sighed, knowing his son was hopeless.
Oliver lived recklessly—parties, trips abroad, a constant rotation of girlfriends. He crashed the expensive car they’d bought him, walked away unharmed, but the shock sent his mother to hospital. A year later, she was gone. With her death, any restraint in Oliver’s life vanished. He drained her bank account without shame.
Then he brought home his new flame—Sophia. Young, flashy, bold. His father knew trouble when he saw it. He tried to reason with him:
“Charlotte is the one for you. Smart, kind, dependable. She’s loved you since you were kids.”
“Charlotte’s boring,” Oliver shot back. “Sophia’s fun.”
But the fun didn’t last. A wild party left the house wrecked, the housekeeper in tears, and William furious.
“Either you sort yourself out, or you leave.”
Oliver smirked.
“Can’t I have guests in my own house?”
“This is *my* house,” William said calmly. “You only have the flat. Go there—have all the fun you want.”
Oliver left, but kept draining his mother’s account. Sophia, it turned out, wasn’t with him for love. Within a couple of years, they were broke—even sold the flat to pay their debts. Then Sophia vanished with another man, leaving Oliver holding their baby.
So he came crawling back—pale, exhausted, humiliated, carrying six-month-old Jack.
“I’ve got nowhere else to go,” he whispered.
His father let him in. But on three conditions: clean up his act, get a job, and marry… Charlotte.
And Charlotte agreed. All those years, she’d stayed true to her feelings. She loved Jack as her own, and a DNA test confirmed it—he was William’s real grandson.
For three years, the house was peaceful. Oliver seemed changed—working, staying in, focusing on family. But then he grew distant. Gone most evenings, unpredictable. One day, William had enough—he hired investigators. The photos came back: Oliver meeting Sophia.
“Why were you with her?” William demanded, tossing the tablet at his son.
“She’s Jack’s mother,” Oliver said.
“She’s the reason your life fell apart. Stay away. And make sure *she* never comes near this house again. I’ll see to it she loses all rights.”
A week later, Oliver disappeared. The last anyone saw, he was climbing into a car with Sophia.
William couldn’t take the betrayal. Charlotte and Jack stayed by his side until the end. As for Oliver… He only showed up four months later—tanned, well-dressed, arm in arm with Sophia.
“Hello,” he said, smiling at Charlotte. “You haven’t changed. We’re here about the inheritance.”
“Don’t bother. It’s already settled,” Charlotte replied. “Jack, love, head upstairs. Your father and I need to talk.”
The boy obeyed. Then, calmly, Charlotte said:
“Everything belongs to me and Jack. Legally, I’m his mother.”
“What?!” Oliver and Sophia gasped.
“It’s all signed and sealed. Your rights are void. You get nothing.”
“We’re his *parents*!” Sophia snapped.
“No. Parents are the ones who stay,” Jack said softly from the stairs. “Charlotte’s my mum. And you… you’re nobody.”
Security quietly showed the intruders out. Oliver realized—he’d lost. Just like always.
