Chapter 5

Inside the freezing morgue, the corner of the white sheet was pulled back. It was enough to destroy any parent’s denial.

Helen took one look, let out a piercing, inhuman scream, and collapsed cold onto the floor.

John tried to play the strong man, but his hands shook so violently he looked like he was shivering.

When he tried to sign the confirmation forms, the pen kept slipping from his fingers. The officer had to hold his hand steady just so he could scribble his name.

When they got home, the silence in the apartment was suffocating.

Helen lay paralyzed on the couch, her tears dried up, leaving only ragged, desperate gasps.

John sat staring into space, lighting one cigarette after another, filling the room with a choking cloud of grey smoke.

His mind was a mess. He wasn't thinking of his daughter's horrific death. He was thinking of the shame, how his boss at work would look at him, and how the neighbors would whisper behind his back.

Finally, the silence was broken by his bitter, resentful voice.

"...Even in death, she can't let us live in peace!"

He slammed his cigarette into the ashtray and cursed under his breath. "To have a useless liability like her, I must have been cursed in my past life! Now the whole block knows. She dragged my name through the mud!"

Those words were like a red-hot iron rod shoved straight into Helen’s bleeding heart.

She snapped her head up. In her swollen, bloodshot eyes, a wild, dangerous madness flared.

Screaming like a wild animal, she lunged at John, clawing at his face.

"John! Are you even human?! She was your daughter! Your own flesh and blood! How can you say that?! It’s you! It’s your family that killed her!!"

John’s face stung from her nails. Furious, he shoved her hard onto the floor and roared back.

"Shut your mouth, you psycho! If you weren't so useless and could actually give me a son, would our house be like this?

If you hadn't kept making that miserable face every day, would I have hated looking at her? Would I have ignored her? Martha was right—you didn't raise her right! You couldn't even watch over a single kid!"

"Can't give me a son..."

"Martha was right..."

Those words acted like a key, unlocking seven years of buried resentment, abuse, and pain inside Helen’s soul.

She remembered the disgust in Martha’s eyes every time she visited, and her venomous comments.

She remembered how John always hid behind his mother, joining in to blame her.

She remembered how I used to hide behind her, terrified, and how she—just to survive in this house, just to get a shred of validation from her husband and mother-in-law—started copying them.

Hating me, screaming at me, using me as a punching bag for all her misery.

It was them!

They had turned her into a monster she herself despised!

And together, they had killed her daughter!

"Ahhh!!"

Helen completely lost her mind. She scrambled up from the floor like a lunatic, crying and screaming as she grabbed mugs, the remote, and anything she could reach, smashing them violently against the walls of the suffocating apartment.

"None of you are human! Martha wanted a grandson! She kept calling my baby a liability! And you? How many times did you ever hold her?

Did you ever give her a single smile? Now she's gone! She was cut open! Are you happy now?! You two drove her to death! You drove me crazy!!"

"Smash! Crash!"

The sound of shattering glass, a woman's manic crying, and a man's angry cursing echoed through the building, vibrating through the walls.

Finally, the terrified neighbors dialed 911.