The day began like any other. Ann stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the buttons of her blouse while Davis chattered endlessly behind her about a cartoon he had watched that morning. His laughter filled the room, light and carefree, and for a moment, life felt perfectly ordinary. "Mommy, will Grandma call me today?" Davis asked, climbing onto the bed. Ann smiled, turning to him. "Of course she will. You know your grandma never forgets." "She promised to teach me a new song," he said proudly. "And she will," Ann replied, kissing his forehead. "Now go downstairs. Daddy's waiting." Downstairs, Oliver was outside in the compound, trimming the hedges with careful precision. He waved when he saw Ann through the glass doors. "You're overworking yourself," Ann teased as she stepped outside. "The flowers won't run away." Oliver laughed softly. "Someone has to keep this place looking decent." He wiped his hands and kissed her cheek. "How are you feeling today?" "Good," she said easily. "Really good." And she meant it. The afternoon passed peacefully. Phone calls were made. Lunch was shared. Davis napped. Ann even found herself humming as she folded laundry, something she hadn't done in a long while. Then, at exactly 6:42 p.m., her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, frowning slightly. Unknown Number. She almost ignored it Almost. "Hello?" she answered.
There was a pause on the other end. Then a voice, professional, steady, detached.
"Good evening. Am I speaking with Mrs. Ann Author?" "Yes… this is she," Ann replied slowly. "This is Officer Daniels from the Metropolitan Police Department." Her heart skipped. "Yes?" Her voice dropped. "Is everything okay?" Another pause. Longer this time. "Mrs. Author… I'm very sorry to inform you that your parents, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Smith, were found deceased this evening." The world stopped.
"I" Ann laughed softly, confused. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" "There was a break-in at their residence," the officer continued. "They were murdered in their living room." The phone slipped from Ann's hand and clattered to the floor. "No," she whispered, shaking her head violently. "No, no, no… that's not possible." She dropped to her knees, clawing for the phone. "You're lying," she cried into it. "You must be wrong. I was just with them. I was just there!" "I'm so sorry, ma'am," the officer said gently. "Their bodies have been moved to the city morgue for identification." Ann screamed. It tore out of her chest like something alive, raw and broken. Her knees gave out completely, and she collapsed onto the tiled floor, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe. "No...no...Mom...Dad...please..." Her cries echoed through the house. Outside, Oliver froze. The hedge trimmer slipped from his hands. "Ann?" he shouted, running toward the house. "Ann!" He burst inside and found her on the floor, shaking, phone pressed to her chest, her face contorted in agony.
"What happened?" he demanded, panic flooding his voice. "Ann, talk to me!" "They're dead," she gasped. "Oliver… my parents are dead." He stared at her. "What?" "They killed them," she sobbed. "They killed my parents." Oliver dropped to the floor beside her, pulling her into his arms. "No… no, Ann. That can't be true." "They said," she choked. "They said they were murdered. In their own house." Oliver's breath hitched. His arms tightened around her as if holding her together. "Oh God… oh God." She beat weak fists against his chest. "Why? Why would anyone do this? My parents never hurt anyone!" "I don't know," Oliver said hoarsely. "I don't know… but I'm here. I've got you."
"I can't breathe," she cried. "It hurts, Oliver. It hurts so much." "Look at me," he said urgently, holding her face. "Ann, breathe with me. Please. You're not alone." Minutes passed. Or hours. Time had no meaning anymore. When she could finally stand, her body numb and trembling, Oliver helped her into the car. "We're going to the morgue," Ann said dully. "I need to see them." Oliver hesitated. "Ann… maybe you shouldn't..."
"I need to," she snapped, tears spilling again. "Please." The drive was silent except for her sobbing. At the morgue, the smell hit her first, cold, sterile, unforgiving. A nurse approached gently. "Mrs. Author… are you ready?" Ann nodded weakly. The sheet was pulled back. Her mother's face was pale, lifeless, eyes closed. Her father lay beside her, frozen in eternal stillness. Ann screamed. She rushed forward, clutching her mother's hand. "Mommy!" she cried. "Please wake up! Please!" Her father's face stared blankly back at her. "Daddy… no," she whispered. "You promised you'd always protect us." Her knees buckled again. Oliver caught her, holding her as she wailed, her grief raw and animalistic. "This is a nightmare," she sobbed. "Please tell me this is a nightmare." Oliver pressed his forehead to hers, eyes wet. "I wish I could," he whispered. She looked at the bodies again, disbelief tearing her apart. "A cold… cold world," she murmured brokenly. "What kind of world does this?" The nurse gently pulled the sheet back over the bodies. Ann collapsed into Oliver's arms, her heart shattered beyond repair. And somewhere in the quiet of the morgue, a chapter of her life ended forever.