My voice echoed through the empty hallway as I called out, "Mom! Mom! Where are ya?" The 10-year-old's eyes of mine scanned the room, my gaze darting from one familiar object to the next. I had just arrived home from school, still wearing my crisp white uniform and carrying my backpack slung over my shoulders. As I climbed the stairs, a sense of unease crept over me. That was when I saw it - my mother's sweater, carelessly discarded on the landing, was stained with dark, crimson blood. My heart skipped a beat as I felt a chill run down my spine.
"Mom!" I screamed again, flinging open the door to the first room, my voice trembling with fear.
As I turned to leave, my eyes dropped to the floor, and my heart sank with widened eyes restless in their sockets. I had stepped on something wet and sticky. Looking down, I saw that my shoe was smeared with blood, and a trail of crimson droplets led off into the darkness. My eyes widened more in horror as I followed the bloodstains, my mind racing with terrible possibilities.
I felt like I was walking through a nightmare, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. The blood seemed to go on forever, leading me deeper into the house. I didn't know what I would find, but I knew it couldn't be good. Mom's sweater, the blood on the stairs, and now this... My mind was racing with worst-case scenarios.
I called out for Mom again, but my voice was shaking, and I'm not sure she would have heard me even if she was right next to me. I followed the blood trail, my eyes scanning for Mom. The silence was deafening, and I felt like I was walking on eggshells, waiting for something to jump out at me.
As I turned a corner, I saw something that made my blood run cold. The room was dimly lit, with only a faint glow from the hallway. I saw Mom lying on the floor, her eyes closed and her face paled with cracked lips. I ran to her, calling out her name, but she didn't respond. I shook her gently, feeling a wave of panic wash over me. She was so still.
"Mom, it's Lila. Please wake up, Mom!" I begged, tears streaming down my face. But she didn't move. I felt a cold dread creeping in. I held Mom's hand, feeling for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. I sighed with relief, thinking she might be okay. But as I looked around, I saw the broken glass and shattered vase on the floor, and the medicine bottle nearby. It was empty. My heart sank.
I grabbed a nearby blanket and wrapped it around Mom, trying to warm her up. I rummaged through her bag, searching for her phone to call for help. My hands were shaking as I dialed the emergency number. As I waited for someone to answer, I held Mom's hand, talking to her softly, hoping she'd wake up.
"Please, Mom, don't leave me. I need ya," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
The paramedics arrived, their voices gentle, but their words distant and echoes in my ears. One of them knelt beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm so sorry, kiddo. We're gonna do everything we can," they said softly. I didn't react. I just stared at Mom's face, memorizing every detail, trying to hold onto the memory of her.
The police arrived at the scene and instructed they take me out. I figured out they were suspecting it was a murder. Two detectives followed me out and sat across from me, their expressions somber.
"We're investigating your mother's death as a suspicious incident," one of them said gently. "We're gonna need your help, sweetie. Can you tell us what happened?"
"Sir," I said, wiping my tears off my eyes.
The second detective leaned forward. "We've found some inconsistencies in the scene. It looks like someone might have been with your mother before she died."
I looked up at them, feeling scared and confused. "Who could have done this?" I asked, my voice shaking.
The superior detective's expression softened. "We're not sure yet, sweetie. But we need your help. Can you tell us about your mom's friends or anyone she might have been worried about?"
I thought about Mom's friends, but nothing seemed suspicious. "She had a friend, Mrs. Thompson, from work. They had lunch together sometimes."
The second detective nodded, taking notes. "We'll look into that. Is there anything else you think might help us?"
My mind reeled as they asked me questions about Mom's life, her relationships, and anyone who might have wanted to harm her
One question caught me unaware.
"Where's your father?"
The question stung me so hard that it hurt to my hone marrow It was then that it dawned on me just how true Ashbal's taunt was - I really didn't have a dad. My mum had always been the only one there for me, until she left.
But recently, she had dropped a bombshell this morning before I left for school say she'd be introducing me to my dad very soon. She had told me after I confided in her that Ashbal's mean words.My classmate had gleefully told the whole class that I didn't have a dad like everyone else, and the hurt still lingered. I had come back from school thinking I would meet my new dad at home. But I met a tragedy entirely.