Fifty-Six: No Coming Back From This.

One Week Later.

The row of chairs were silent and the winds rustled the leaves of the flowers along the aisle. There were a few people, most of whom were the closest family to the Baron and then a handful of reporters. Everywhere was silent and the atmosphere was as thick with tension and grief.

There was a coffin meters away from the front chairs where Cynthia alongside Oscar was sat. He was in a glistening black tuxedo which matched his mother’s dress. He was doing a better job at holding back his tears than she was. Cynthia was a wreck, having her head buried into her handful of tissue paper. The silence was deafening through her ears and she especially would have breathed a sigh of relief as the emcee finally mounted the stage.

He grappled the microphone and cleared his throat.

“I would like to welcome you to this celebration of the life of Mr Ronald Baron” This was the moment—this was the moment Oscar dreaded his whole life but somehow, here he was. He was in it.

No amount of hop