Gabriel woke up to the gentle hum of a quiet Saturday morning. Sunlight streamed through his window, casting warm patterns on the wall. He stretched and let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Ah, weekend," he said to himself, smiling. "No school, no teachers, just time with Angela."
He got up, brushing his teeth and humming to himself as he moved around his room. He had even picked out his favorite hoodie—the one Angela once said made him look "less serious."
He checked his phone. 10:13 AM. Angela was usually up by now. He sent her a quick message:
Gabriel: Morning! You up? Today's the day
He waited a few minutes. No reply.
He frowned slightly. She was usually quick to respond, especially on days like this. He sent another:
Gabriel: You okay?
Still no reply.
"Hmm," he muttered, pacing his room a little. Then he decided to call.
It rang. And rang. And then went to voicemail.
Gabriel paused. That wasn't normal.
Even on her worst days, Angela always picked up. Even when she and her mom were barely speaking, she would at least answer his call. A cold unease began to settle in his chest.
He sat down, tapping his phone against his knee.
Then he stood up again. "Nope," he said. "I'm going."
He pulled on his shoes and jacket and headed out the door.
The walk to Angela's house was longer than he remembered. Every step was filled with questions. Maybe her phone died? Maybe she overslept? But none of those sat right.
When he got to the gate, the security guard looked up from his small stool.
"Morning, Gabriel," the man said, recognizing him.
"Morning, sir," Gabriel replied. "Is Angela home?"
The guard nodded. "I think so. The father came back yesterday. It's been quiet since."
Gabriel paused. "Her dad?"
"Yeah," the guard said, then waved him through.
Gabriel's heartbeat picked up. He hadn't heard anything about her father returning. Angela hadn't mentioned it.
He walked up to the front door and knocked. No response.
He knocked again, louder this time. "Angela?" he called out.
Still nothing.
He was about to knock again when a loud, muffled noise came from inside. A thud—followed by silence.
Gabriel's breath caught in his throat. He tried the door. It was unlocked.
He stepped in slowly, calling out, "Angela?"
And then he saw her.
At the foot of the stairs, Angela lay still, her body awkwardly positioned as though she had slipped or fallen.
"Angela!"
Her mother rushed in from the hallway, a look of panic on her face. "Oh my God!" she gasped and dropped to her knees beside Angela, gently cradling her daughter's head.
Gabriel stood frozen for a moment, his heart pounding in his ears.
Then he noticed someone else standing stiffly nearby.
Angela's father.
He was rooted to the spot, gripping the edge of the stair railing, his knuckles white. His face had gone pale. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
He looked terrified.
"Do something!" Angela's mother cried, looking up. "Help!"
But he couldn't move. His eyes were locked on Angela, wide and horrified. It was as if his entire body had shut down. His chest rose and fell quickly, panicked—he was breathing, but paralyzed by fear.
Gabriel stared at him. This wasn't coldness. It was something else—shock, helplessness. Maybe guilt too.
Angela's mother didn't wait. She pressed her hand against Angela's forehead, her voice cracking. "Gabriel, call an ambulance!"
Gabriel snapped into action, fumbling for his phone, dialing with shaking fingers.
"I—I'm calling now! Please come quick, she fell down the stairs—she's not moving!"
As he spoke to emergency services, he could still see Angela's father standing like a statue, trembling slightly, unable to act.
The sirens were coming.
Angela still didn't move.