Chapter 4: A Risky Mercy

Numb with shock, I returned to my room. I stumbled down the hall, head buzzing. The old mattress creaked as I dropped onto it, staring up at the stains on the ceiling. Everything felt far away, like it was happening to someone else.

I always thought that, even though my mother didn’t like me, I was still her son. I remembered how she used to braid my hair when I was little, how she’d tuck me in—before everything went sour. I guess I’d been clinging to hope, even if it was just habit.

I never imagined she would send me to my death just because of a few words from my brother. Betrayal burned hot in my chest. I tried to swallow it down, but it stuck like a lump in my throat.

I curled up on the bed for a long time before I could collect myself. I wrapped my arms around my knees, rocking back and forth. The house was silent except for the distant ticking of the old clock and the occasional groan of pipes. Time stretched out, thick and suffocating.

That night, after my brother and mother had both fallen asleep, I tiptoed to the woman’s room. The hall was so quiet, I could hear the pipes ticking behind the walls, and every step felt like it echoed for miles. Moonlight spilled through the cracked window as I slipped past their doors, heart hammering. Every floorboard seemed to scream under my feet. I hesitated outside her room, hand shaking on the knob, then slipped inside, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I could.