Their older sister instructed them to behave, and they greeted us by nodding their heads. A glance at the children and their sister was all it took for a pang of pity to seize me. The younger ones, their frames noticeably diminished, bore the unmistakable signs of hunger and ill health. It was a judgment, perhaps, based solely on appearance, yet one I instinctively knew to be agonizingly true. I looked at Bryan and said, intending to address the girls as well, "Hey, why don't you all go get some chocolates and burgers from the car? I've brought them for you." Bryan hurried outside, and the two girls eagerly followed him. Their faces lit up with smiles. As they stepped out, it gave their sister and me some space to converse. "Thank you so much, and I apologize for being harsh with you earlier. Let's pretend that didn't happen," she said, her tone sincere. I was taken aback by her sudden kindness. Why was she thanking me? What had I done to deserve this?
"Welcome," I replied, still puzzled. "But can I ask you something?"
"Of course." she nodded.
"Why are you thanking me and apologizing? I don't understand. It's me who should be doing that. I annoyed you," I said, expecting a clear response.
"You wouldn't understand unless you lived with us," she began. "In fact, those are my little sisters..." I cut in. "Yeah, you all look alike," I said.
She nodded and continued. "You heard me say my parents are no more, right? Well, technically, they are still alive, but neither of them cares about us anymore. They divorced three years ago, unable to decide who would take the children. So, they ran off abroad the night the lawyers were finalizing the custody. Since then, I've been responsible for taking care of my little sisters. I had to drop out of school to find work. I'm working part-time as a housekeeper, but the pay doesn't cover our expenses. The girls didn't eat last night, or the night before. They couldn't sleep." Her voice trembled as she spoke, and tears welled up in her eyes. I could feel her pain and replied softly, "I'm so sorry. That's really tough, but you must keep moving forward, right? You can't let it break you. You are trying your best."
She nodded, wiping away her tears. "Actually, everything happens for a reason. No matter what you go through, if you're still breathing, you have a precious gift—the ability to rise again. Stand tall and shine, girl," I said, offering her a warm embrace. She wept silently and whispered, "Sometimes, I feel like I'm worthless. I cannot provide my sisters, my dreams faded, the hope..."
Bryan and the girls had yet to return, perhaps bonding outside. I told her my story, everything that had happened to me. Somehow, our individual tales merged, bound by the absence of our parents and the shared imperative to nurture our younger siblings. Our roles were, undeniably, parallel. From that moment on, we became friends—two souls connected by suffering. She insisted that I stay with them for as long as I needed. In biology, we had learned about enzymes and how they perfectly fit into their active sites, like pieces in a puzzle. That's how it felt between us. It seemed that I had arrived at exactly the right moment, with everything I had unknowingly brought with me. God's plan, I thought.
Her name was Ingrid Katrina. Her younger sister was Kristin Lydia, and the one in the middle was Ingrid Elizabeth, though they often shortened her name to Eliz. Katrina was 17, a year younger than me. Eliz was 11, and Lydia was 4. As she told me their ages, I began to wonder about the dynamics between her parents. I asked, almost rhetorically, "Why such a long gap between you and Eliz? It seems like your parents must have had good times together before they split." She nodded. "They were happy, just the two of us. But when Eliz was two, they separated. They spent two years apart. During that time, my mother took care of us. Then, after they reconciled, they had Lydia. But things didn't work out, and they divorced when she was still very young." She wiped away more tears. I embraced her again, and we decided not to let any more tears fall, except those of happiness.
We went outside to check on the children. They were playing hide-and-seek in the bushes, giggling with joy. We returned to the car, where I retrieved some burgers and kebabs. We shared the meal happily, sipping juice afterward. Katy touched her stomach and spoke. "Oh, it's been so long since I've had a full stomach like this," she said with a laugh.
I chuckled at her dramatic gesture, holding her belly like a pregnant woman. She burped, and I followed suit. We laughed together, the joy of the moment lifting our spirits.
That day, we decided to do nothing but chat and have fun. We postponed unloading the truck and renovating the house for the next day. My thoughts about the address drifted away. I felt a sense of belonging here, as though I had found family once again. Bryan seemed to feel the same. All my worries melted away in the warmth of that shared moment.
There was a vast, bushy homestead, and she told me that it belonged to her since it was her parents'. She had gone through the inheritance paperwork and had it registered in her names. We studied all possibilities to benefit from that homestead parcel. With the little money I had, we could barely survive. We needed another source of income. We thought about cultivating the land to grow tomatoes, vegetables, greens, and herbs. We cherished the idea and anchored ourselves to it. We conferred and made the right decision. We also considered working as housemaids in different homes. And it was possible since I had the truck. That day, we slept in the same room, and the kids slept in theirs.
The following morning, we woke up very early. I had set an alarm for 6 a.m. on my phone. We got up, and the sun hadn't risen yet. It was a cold dawn. After getting up, I went downstairs to the kitchen, boiled six cups of water in the kettle, and then made tea. There were many toasts left untouched from the previous night. We served them for breakfast, and it was time to renew the house: unloading the truck, refilling the house, cleaning the floors, washing things, and cleaning the façade. Eliz was to prepare lunch. She told me that she wasn't too young to spend the whole day playing games with kids. She was a nice girl, and even smart. Her qualities made me bond with her more than anyone else there.
Katy and I went out at seven. I was wearing my black camisole, tight shorts, and slippers, while Katy had on a blue camisole and baggy jeans. She looked good in those outfits, and I hated the way she looked somewhat older than me though she wasn't. Her hair cascaded down her back, just above her buttocks. I envied it, but not too much. The materials in the truck were covered by a large plastic tarp. We took it off and started unloading the materials one by one. We placed them all in the living room in a haphazard and messy way. The truck was empty by about 11 a.m. The next task was to arrange everything in its respective place. Eliz joined us as lunch was ready. We were almost done by 1 p.m. Eliz has had boiled potatoes, made cabbage and tuna sauce, toasts, and mayonnaise. It smelled fantastic. It's a wonder that a young girl like Eliz knew how to cook. I exclaimed, "Did you make this meal! yourself?" She grinned and answered, making fun of us, "And who else do you see in me?"
She welcomed us to the table, and we began serving ourselves. I took some slices of potatoes, scooped out some sauce, and topped it onto the potatoes. I grabbed two toasts and spread mayonnaise between them. I started eating. I was almost finished when I remembered the kids. They were upstairs, gaming. I yelled their names. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about them. As we finished eating, my phone rang. I looked at it and saw that it was my boyfriend, Ethan. I excused myself and walked outside to take the call. I stood on the porch under the shade, folding my arms on the railings while facing the road. I picked up.
"Hello, babe. How have you been doing lately?" he greeted me from the other side.
"I'm fine. What about you?" I responded, my interest dying.
"Not fine." He replied quickly and something like anger revealed in his voice.
"Why? You even sound somehow not okay. What's wrong?" Asked me.
"Don't act like you don't know anything."
"Yeah, you said it yourself. I don't know anything about you not being fine."
"Huh?"
"What's wrong, daddy?"
"Everything is wrong. I'm worried about you. I don't know where you are, and you don't want to tell me. How can I be fine?"
"Come on, babe, I've told you so many times not to worry about me. I'm fine, safe, and with good people. That's how it is." I concluded.
"Oh, good people?" He repeated, as though he hadn't heard me properly. "You must have lied to me. You've gone somewhere else, haven't you?"
"What makes you think that? Don't you trust me?" I replied suspensefully, "Now you're changing to someone I can't promise you to keep..."
"Damn you left me. I'm no more." He punched the table from the other side. I heard it.
"Damn, you don't trust me. I'm offended." I replied and hung up abruptly. He called again, but I declined it. I felt so sad that my boyfriend never trusted me.
As I hung up, my heart started beating erratically, and I accused myself of upsetting someone who was beneficial and important in my life. I felt like calling him back, but I held back because I knew what he would say if I did. I decided to call him later. But to be honest, my heart was urging me to call. Instead, I sent a text message: "I'm sorry, love. I can't tell you right now but I'm safe, I promise. I love you so much."
I turned my head back to find Katy standing in the doorway, gazing at me. I asked her what she was doing there and if she had been eavesdropping. "Yeah, I heard everything, though I never wanted to," she said, leaning on the door.
"What did you hear?" I asked, curious.
"Just a couple arguing," she remarked with a smirk.
"That's too big for us." I replied, "By the way, do you have a boyfriend?"
"I thought you were the topic. Anyway, I don't have one. Who can love a poor, ugly, and orphaned girl like me? I bet there's no one," she replied sympathetically. I felt so sad at her answer. I blurted out "Hey, sweetie, you are so beautiful, kind-hearted, and you have everything you need. You can't recognize it right now. Just give it some time. You'll find someone who's tailor-made for you."
That afternoon, we mopped the house, cleaned the walls, washed the glasses, and tidied up the façade. By about 5:30, all those household chores were done. The house looked almost new—it was clean, and everything was set: lights, TV, curtains, and others. The kids were asleep, and the sun was also going down. It was setting beautifully behind the hills, leaving the sky glowing orange. Something unexpected but exciting too, happened that afternoon. I found three thousand five in my grandpa's truck, in the same compartment where the CDs were stored. I felt very happy, and it made me miss him even more. He knew it. He must have known that he would leave us.
Around 6:00 p.m., we left the house and headed straight for the supermarket. Katy and I sat in the front seats, while the others sat in the back. It was getting dark, and dusk was turning into the night. I put on some music and drove lightly, following the path Katy showed me. I didn't know where the supermarket was, so I had to rely on her. In no more than twenty minutes, we arrived at the supermarket. We parked the car and went inside. We split up to shop in different sections and aisles. Katy was pushing the trolley. Everyone was given a chance to mention what they wanted to buy. Lydia asked for chocolate bars, powder, syrups, and candies. Bryan, proving his great insight, asked, "I can't ask for bread because we eat it and finish it. So, buy flour, baking soda, and sugar so we can bake bread whenever we want." We clapped for him. Bryan was naturally brilliant. He had social skills and could reason complex thoughts quickly. I wondered what he'd become when he grew up.
Eliz asked for chicken, fish, beef, and milk. I asked for rice, fruits, vegetables, juices, potatoes, and pasta. Katy asked for mobile phones—one for herself and one for Eliz. We bought everything, and the trolley was filled to the brim. The goods were nearly overflowing. We paid and left. We were going to pass by the Agribusiness station to negotiate about the plowing machine, as well as seeds and seedlings. The man at the station agreed to lend us the machine for five hundred kroner for two days. I knew how to plow with the machine, so we gave him our address, and he promised to deliver it the next morning.
At the house, we unpacked the goods from the car. It was 8:45 p.m., and we had no cooked food—we were running out of time. We couldn't begin cooking at that hour, so we ordered dinner online. We had to sleep early that night because the following day would be very busy: preparing the land for growing vegetables and other related work. I believed that the time you go to sleep determines the time you wake up.
I turned on the TV and started watching. They were airing advertisements and then a segment about YouTube: how to create a channel, upload videos, customize it, and monetize it. It made me feel like creating my own channel too. Katy and Eliz were extremely excited. They unboxed their iPhones and started exploring them. They could laugh out loud as they went through their phones but immediately fell silent when they noticed us.
Soon, the food we ordered arrived. It was rice, fish, and salad. We took it, and the kids went upstairs to sleep.
The news was on TV when I finished my dinner. Whenever I watched the news, I always looked forward to one section called "SPECIAL REPORT." In that section, they reported mega-surprising, mysterious, and shocking news. I loved that section. That evening, they reported something unbelievable—and it concerned me.
ON THE TV SCREEN: "Like I said, this event occurred in Bergen. A house caught fire, and everyone saw it burning at noon. However, people were shocked when the firefighters arrived, and the fire stopped by itself. Nothing was found burned in the house. It's being said that the house must be haunted, as nobody lives in it, but this was contradicted by a woman who was in the house when it caught fire." Narrated the reporter. The screen then showed a video of the house burning, followed by someone emerging from it. Reporters with cameras rushed to her and began interviewing her. She stated: "It's hard to comprehend this phenomenon. This house used to belong to my sister. She passed away four years ago. Her kids lived here with their grandpa. I came to pay them a visit them because they had been at my place for the last two weeks. I entered, but suddenly found myself in a terrifying forest, surrounded by flames... oh, it hurt." She was scratching her skin so bad.
Another reporter asked, "And what about the kids and grandpa?"
She stammered, "They escaped. Their names are—are..." but fainted before completing her sentence.
*
Sometimes that woman, Anna, gives me thousand reasons that she killed my mother. I vividly remember one evening when my mother told me she was going to visit her sister. She was seven months pregnant, and it was around 4 p.m. It wasn't far from our house to her sister's, so I thought she was just visiting her best friend, whom we always called "aunt," but whom my mother referred to as her "sister." I thought that was where she had gone, until we received a call from the hospital. They told us to come because she was about to give birth prematurely to Bryan, due to a miscarriage. I was fourteen, and my grandpa was already paralyzed. I went to the hospital with food and clothes for the baby, as my mother had had already started shopping for the baby. When I arrived at the hospital, I found her lying in bed, screaming, drenched in sweat. I went close to her bed and began comforting her, telling her she would be fine. Soon, the doctors arrived and took her to the emergency room because the baby was about to come. She couldn't speak. I stayed in the waiting room saying many prayers and wondering how came she's going to give birth prematurely.
She eventually gave birth to Bryan around 7 p.m. But no sooner had the baby been born than I saw my mother's life slipping away. The doctor came to collect me from the waiting room. I went in the room where my mother was, but it terrified me. She was in unbearable pain, and the doctor told me that my mother had been poisoned. She gave birth to her uterus after the baby. My mother died right in front of me. I had nothing to do but crying my heart out. The doctor tried to comfort me, but it was no use. I was devastated. The baby was kept in the incubator for weeks, and the machine had to be paid for by our family. Thank God my grandpa received his pension money biweekly. If it wasn't him, I don't know how I could've paid for the baby rearing.
I was left in confusion, wondering how my mother had been poisoned so quickly after leaving home. Was it her best friend? Or did the poisoning happen before the day she died? I asked myself. Unfortunately, the answers weren't to be provided by anybody. Despite his paralysis, Grandpa arranged the funeral from where he laid. A man is always a man. I became a total orphan, left with only my grandfather. I was too young to deal with relationships or boys. The mourning period lasted for a week, and the following week was dubbed "INVESTIGATION WEEK." I decided I would investigate my mother's death personally. I had a vengeful spirit inside me.
On Monday, the first day of my investigation week, I woke up and got myself ready to go to school. I no longer wanted to go to school, as there seemed to be no reason for it anymore. I had only studied to become rich and buy my mother fancy things: a car, a house, clothes—everything. I had also wanted to move my family to the city. My dream was now ruined. I started to hate school, but my grandpa always reminded me of the one person in the incubator: He once said, "Don't despair. You still have someone to live for. And it's all through going to school. Would your parents have wanted you to drop out if they were still alive?"
"OK, you know they're dead," I retorted and dropped the plate on the table while feeding him. I hated being reminded of their absence.
On that Monday, I went to school. Some of my classmates had attended the funeral, offering condolences. Others excused themselves for not coming. I felt somewhat surrounded. They helped me stay strong and shielded. The teacher walked into the classroom, and we greeted her. Almost all the students disliked her behavior, and even her own son didn't get along with her. It was Anna Margaret.
She asked what topic we had discussed the previous Friday. I hadn't been there because of the mourning period. She asked me to stand up and answer her.
"I'm sorry, I was absent," I said.
She looked frustrated and asked me:
"Where were you?"
"Mourning period for my mother," I said, and she burst into giggles. One girl, called Irvine, stood up and shouted, "What the hell are you giggling for? You're so stupid!" She told the teacher off, grabbed her rucksack, and headed out. The teacher glared at me and said, "This is because of you. Instead of studying hard to get something for yourself, you're wasting your time on meaningless days off."
Her statement made me paranoid, and my anger boiled inside. I combed my hair with my fingers because it was a mess. I raged out: "Are you made to stress me out? This school belongs to the government, not you. So, you better teach. That's your job. Stop poking your damn nose into my business. And you know what? You are the worst thing that ever happened to me. Go to hell, bitch. Fuck you!" I grabbed my backpack and dashed outside. I felt completely thrown off. What kind of community was I growing up in? I wandered in the schoolyard and ran to my mother's best friend—the one she always called her sister. I was crying.
I reached her place around 10 a.m., and the sun was shining brightly across the horizon. When I reached the fence, I saw her sitting under the porch washing fruits. Beside her was a blender. She noticed me coming and stood up warmly to hug me, but I pushed her away. I told her to stay away from me. She looked at me blankly but sat and continued with her fruits. She made juice, ran inside the house, and brought out two glasses. She poured the juice into them. She gulped it down and then asked me to take one too. I recalled the time the doctor told me my mother must have been poisoned. She took another sip of juice and glanced up at me, saying:
"What's wrong with you, Nora? You're not behaving yourself toward me."
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," I said tearfully.
"We're good friends, you know, and I was your mother's—"
I interrupted as she mentioned my mother, "That's in the past. What kind of friend are you? Huh? I never guessed you could do this to your friend... You killed my mother. You killed her"
She flinched and shouted.
"What! You're kidding, aren't you? Baby C'mon, are you in your sense?"
"You're such a good actress! Do you really know nothing about my mom's death?" I asked rhetorically. She rebuked me, "Get out of my place. Are you accusing me of killing my own best friend? And what kind of child are you?"
"I'm not a child!" I retorted.
"It's been four weeks since your mother last visited me, and that's the last day we met. I was in Oslo. Where could I have met your mother to poison her? Huh, where... Tell me where," she said, sobbing. Her point made me falter. My anger subsided, and I asked softly, "Who else did my mother call 'sister,' except you?" She looked at me blankly and said, "I'm not in a place to answer that. I think you're the one who should answer it. You are her daughter and I'm simply someone she just met in Bergen." I felt offended and embarrassed. I apologized and told her that it wasn't me; I was being driven by acrimony. I explained how my fucking teacher had harassed me and said horrible things to me. She understood and advised me not to plan for revenge. Instead, I should look ahead, willing to forgive and move on. I wished I hadn't come to her in such a state. She was a kind-hearted woman.
Two months passed, and the doctor summoned us to pick up the baby. She was given to my mother's friend because she could offer good parental care. I couldn't let her breastfeed him. I had heard that breastfeeding naturally creates a strong bond, love, and connection between mother and child. Aunt Helene, my mother's friend, looked after him and raised him until he turned two. I visited her often after school to play with my little brother.
Unfortunately, when Bryan turned two, Aunt Helene and her husband moved with their kids from Norway to France. They couldn't take him with them. At that time, we found a nanny for Bryan to take care of him at home. We enrolled Bryan in kindergarten when he was three. I would drop him off there on my way home from school. He was a good boy; he only cried when he was physically hurt. Through everything I went through, my boyfriend Ethan was there for me. We got together when I was 16. I'm sorry I can't tell you how we met—it's private. No, it's not. I've told you so many secrets already, so I'll share this one too. I can't say it's in any particular chapter, but in one of the rest chapters.
Now back to the TV Report
What the hell was she doing at my house? Was she just burgling, or maybe planning to kill or kidnap us? I felt a surge of fear that she was going to wake up and report our names, or worse, come to find us herself. She had been in a coma the night I heard about it. What kind of things were happening? Grandpa had probably turned into a ghost. I turned off the TV and went upstairs. I found my grandpa standing at my door on his own legs. I was about to scream and flinch, but he shushed me. It was until I started talking to myself, when I realized that my grandfather has disappeared. I was technically hallucinating.