Chapter 3

March 2024

Tom

“Why can’t you be smart like your brother?” yelled Tom’s mother, smacking him upside the head. His glasses flew off, clattering onto the floor. On the far side of the room, his older brother, Fritz, smirked, basking in yet another compliment at Tom’s expense.

The two brothers couldn’t have been more different. Fritz was short and stocky, with a mop of curly brown hair like their father. Tom, on the other hand, was tall and lean like their mother, his dark blond hair neatly trimmed. They shared the same piercing blue eyes, but beyond that, they had little in common.

Tom fumbled on the floor for his glasses, the world around him a blur. “Why does she hate me so much?” he wondered. No matter how hard he tried to please her, it seemed everything he did was wrong.

“Tom, remember what I told you about the table for tonight’s guests,” his mother snapped, her voice cutting through his thoughts. “The white flower arrangements belong on the dining table, not in the entryway.”

“But yesterday you said they looked better there,” Tom protested, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t argue with me, young man! Think! You should know they’re better on the dining table where our guests can enjoy them.”

Tom sighed, realizing this was today’s argument. There was always something to correct, always some failure to address.

“Fritz, darling,” she said, her tone softening as she turned to his brother. “Go enjoy your day and get some rest. Tonight will be wonderful.”

»

Growing up in the shadow of his famous mother, in Düsseldorf, Germany, Tom never seemed to fit in at school, at work, or even at home. He often reflected on those days, endless cycles of criticism and chaos that left him feeling like an outsider in his own family. By the time he turned 18, he felt nothing but relief as he walked out the door, leaving behind the dysfunction and heartache. It was his chance at a fresh start, a shot at stability and independence far removed from the turbulence of his childhood.

After completing six months of military service, Tom found work as a runner for a small newspaper firm. Rejecting any help from his mother’s social connections, he resolved to start from the bottom and succeed on his own terms.

His mother, Gretchen Hans Schumer, was a force of nature. Once a model whose beauty turned heads wherever she went, her willpower dominated every corner of the family’s life. Her sharp words left deep scars, cutting into anyone who dared oppose her. Gretchen had leveraged her striking looks to build the life she wanted, charming men into showering her with luxurious clothes and shoes.

When her husband, Friedrich, voiced frustration, she would silence him with a steely gaze and an accusing finger. “Don’t forget who made this possible,” she’d say. “Without me, you’d still be a doorman at some second-rate hotel. Now, go hide in the kitchen. Dinner won’t prepare itself, and our guests will be here soon.”

Friedrich would bow his head, his pride swallowed by her overpowering presence. Deep down, he knew she was right. Without his wife’s fame, they wouldn’t have the life they did. But Tom saw it differently. To him, his father was a man undone by love, a shadow of who he might have been.

As Gretchen’s modeling career took off, Friedrich was relegated to the role of househusband. What began as simple tasks, tidying up and preparing dinner, morphed into full-scale event planning. Friedrich spent his days ensuring every meal was perfect, every room spotless, and every gathering flawless, while Gretchen basked in admiration, oblivious to his exhaustion.

Tom realized at a very young age how toxic his family was; he resented his mother’s self-centered behavior and wished his father would stand up to her. As her fame grew, so did her sense of entitlement. To the world, she was a star, admired, celebrated, untouchable. But to Tom, she was an absence, her glittering success casting long shadows over the boy who simply wanted a mother.

»

Tom’s career at the Rheinische Post was firmly established after many long hours and relentless deadlines, a small price to pay for the independence he had carved out for himself. There were times when Tom would stare blankly at a half-written article, the words blurring into unspoken frustrations. He longed for time with his father, simple moments to talk, laugh, and feel understood. But every attempt was intercepted by his mother. 

Fourteen years into his career, with accolades pouring in and opportunities at every turn, a rare occurrence happened; Tom received a message from his mother. He found himself back in the home he had once been so eager to leave. Sitting by his dying father’s side, the familiar tension returned when his mother walked in.

“Oh, Tom,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’ve finally decided to spend time with your papa. If only you were more like your brother. You abandoned this family and disgraced us with that newspaper job. You just don’t belong.”

Tom clenched his jaw. “Mother, I’m here to see Papa. Please, just go do…whatever it is you do.”

“Don’t speak to me that way!” she snapped. “You should respect the mother who gave you this life!”

Tom had always preferred peace over confrontation but today was different. As his mother’s sharp words cut through the silence of the room, he felt a wave of frustration. For years, he’d swallowed his feelings, allowing her criticism to shape his every move. But now, standing before her, something inside him shifted. He wasn’t angry, nor was he bitter. Instead, he chose a different approach.

With a calm that surprised even him, Tom spoke. “Mother, I understand you care about me, but your words have been hurtful. I’m doing what I love, and it’s time you recognize that.” His voice, steady and kind, held no trace of aggression, but every word carried the weight of a lifetime of silence.

His mother, taken aback by his unexpected calm, faltered. For a moment, there was no response. But Tom wasn’t done. He continued, each sentence laced with a quiet strength that could not be ignored. “I am going to stay here with my Papa. For years you have interfered. Not anymore. I will stay for as long as he needs me,” father and son holding hands, a tear rolling down the dying man’s cheek.

As Tom finished, a sense of peace settled over him. For the first time, he had stood up for himself, not with silence, anger or harsh words, but with kindness and clarity. 

Gretchen hesitated for a moment, not enjoying being outwitted. “You are such a feeble waste of space,” she quickly blurted out. “Don’t think that by being here you will receive any inheritance.”

“I am sorry to have disappointed you. It won’t be long before I am gone. Please leave us alone now,” he replied, showing his mother towards the door and locking it behind her. Hours later, with the passing of his father, Tom felt the grief clinging to him like a heavy shadow. The emptiness in his heart was too much to bear.  With a kiss on the forehead, he held his father’s hand one last time, whispering a quiet goodbye as love and loss collided in his heart. Tom left the house for the last time, grateful that he had had the last say to be with his father.

»

Tom had found purpose and freedom as a journalist. His days were filled with dynamic projects, and he thrived in the fast-paced world of reporting.  His latest assignment would bring the past roaring back, just months after his father’s passing.  Tasked with documenting the history of Düsseldorf’s iconic Portage Hotel before its demolition, Tom uncovered a chilling headline buried in an old newspaper: “Famous Actor J. Krüger Spotted Leaving Hotel Room Where Woman Secretly Gives Birth.”

The whispers of the “Portage Hotel baby” that had shadowed his childhood suddenly felt real. He vividly recalled several arguments between his parents in his younger years, just before his mother’s big break in the modeling industry. While Tom couldn’t fully grasp the conversation at the time, the words “Portage Hotel baby, not yours” echoed repeatedly. As his mother’s career took off and her paychecks grew, so did her dominance over the family. Whenever his father tried to defend Tom, she would walk past him without hesitation, coldly repeating the same phrase: “Portage Hotel baby, not yours.”

Tom poured over countless reports and interviewed more than a dozen eyewitnesses to the events of 1980 before uncovering an alarming truth. Everything was falling into place; the dates, the cover-up, even the sharp words his mother used to hurl at his father whenever he tried to shield him. The pieces all pointed to one conclusion: he was the product of that fleeting affair.

Two maids, who had been present at his birth thirty-two years earlier, confirmed Tom’s findings within days. His birth certificate, it turned out, was nothing more than a fabricated lie.

With his father, the one who was there during his life, now gone, Tom saw no reason to seek out his biological father nor confront his mother. His life was good, and he was on the verge of starting a new chapter with Felicia, the love of his life, as they prepared to welcome their own family.

»

Once the darling of haute couture, Gretchen’s striking figure and face began to show the signs of aging in her mid-fifties. The modeling contracts faded at an alarming pace, and the industry that once worshipped her, now sought younger, more vibrant women. With a defiant tenacity, she clung to her persona. She would sweep into rooms with the same alluring call, remaining unapologetically herself despite her arrogance. 

Following the death of her husband, she continued to cling to a lifestyle of extravagance. Designer handbags, luxury vacations, and dinners at exclusive restaurants remained staples in her life, though her income no longer justified such indulgences. She rationalized each splurge as essential to maintaining her image; she was trapped in a cycle of appearances she couldn’t afford to abandon. Gretchen suddenly found herself facing the reality of her financial situation, realizing that her once, infinite stream of income was dwindling at a rapid pace.

Despite a financial crisis looming in her future, her true nature had not changed. Behind her polished facade, she belittled everyone within earshot, reminding them of their inferiority. It was no wonder she had no friends.

After years of silence, it came as a complete surprise to Tom when his mother sent him a text message. 

– Tom, call me right away.

A nagging discomfort rolled up Tom’s spine as he knew she needed something. “I’ll call her later,” said Tom out loud as he concentrated on completing the final part of his assignment.

Hours later, back at home, Tom counted over five messages from his mother, each one more demanding. After spending some quality time with his wife Felicia and their two infants, Tom proceeded to tackle the uncomfortable task. His mother picked up immediately, with no hint of a greeting.

“Tom, I need you to help me. You know things have been tough lately, and I can’t manage this on my own.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tom, baffled by her words.

“I’m in a pinch and I need you to help me out.” 

Tom laughed, hearing the arrogance in his mother’s voice. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I think it would be best if you called Fritz.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare think of imposing my problems on your brother.” 

Still laughing in disbelief, Tom replied, “You mean, hashtag, not my brother. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

“What do you mean, not your brother? And what’s this hashtag you’re talking about?”

“It’s a symbol used to classify or categorize something that is a thing. I also found out about your fling with the actor and where I was born. That’s all in the past now. I’ve moved on.”

“Oh, seriously. You’re still my son and I need help. Let me come over and discuss this with you. Where do you live again? I’ve lost your address.”

Tom continued to laugh, not surprised by her response. “You really are all about yourself, aren’t you mother? We no longer live in Germany. We moved over two years ago.”
 “We?”
 “Yes, my wife and our children. There’s nothing more I can do now. Call Fritz or one of your friends. I am sure they can help you out. I do need to go now. Bye mother.” Tom put down his phone, relieved that the conversation had come to an end, on his terms. He felt empowered.

»

For a split second, Gretchen felt lightheaded and out of control. How could her son have married, had children and not told her about it? “The nerve of him not keeping in touch with me. He will regret this one day.”

Over the next few years, Gretchen’s path was anything but straightforward. She bounced from one odd job to another, searching for the kind of help and guidance that could give her life some direction. Eventually, she found her footing in the world of brand consulting and digital influencing, a field where her knack for social media kept her hustling. Yet, despite the flurry of content creation and brand deals, her income always seemed to fall short of sustaining the lavish lifestyle she was determined not to abandon. 

Copyright © 2025

Part 12 /14

Target publishing date mid August, 2025