Tade stood before the mirror adjusting his impeccably ironed suit. The reflection looking back was confident, with broad shoulders, picture-perfect smile, everything successful. The picture the world saw.
"Nice illusion," he muttered under his breath.
Outside, the city bustled; a sea of people moving with purpose. He stepped into his sleek car, acknowledging the greetings of people who admired his riches and power, and therefore held him in highest esteem. No one saw the cracks beneath the mask.
Inside the office, he would sit through key meetings, flashing his attractive smiles. His mind drifted—toward the lonely nights, and the emptiness that wealth couldn't fill.
He was an unhappy man!
In the evening, he drove to that old neighborhood, back to when he was poor but extremely happy, his two kids playing without a care, his wife's laughter ringing from their cramped home. He parked beside the old ruins. This once was home. Back when he had the things that mattered most, his family. Back before the tragedy happened.
A collapsed building that claimed the lives of his wife and children. He had survived, a broken man.
But life never remained the same. Every day, he carried the unbearable weight of his loss and though it's been eight years, it had left a wound that refused to scar.
Children's laughter, pure and unfiltered, floated in the atmosphere. He wiped some tears.
As he drove away, he put on his mask once again.