When the video was enlarged, they saw that I was calling my fnother, asking if I could borrow 100 dollars.
“It’s all my fault, Grace. I should’ve believed you but I didn’t… I killed you!” My mother’s voice cracked as she wept, her grief overwhelming her to the point where she passed out.
My father, trembling with anger and sorrow, asked if the school’s security footage near the warehouse could be pulled up.
The footage showed me, struggling to stay on my feet, barely dragging myself as I made my way back. But before I could even reach the door, I collapsed hard on the ground, blood pouring from my body. Meanwhile, just a s
distance away, Yolana was happily walking
hand–in–hand with my father, who was sending her off to school with a smile.
If only he had noticed, if only he had looked closer–maybe he could’ve seen me.
The footage continued to the day of my death. They saw Yolana open my door and, without a second thought, throw my lifeless body next to a trash bin.
Unable to bear it any longer, my father surged to his feet and struck Yolana, causing her face to be covered in blood. The police quickly intervened, but it was too late.
Too late. Everything was too late.
“I never imagined my beloved adopted daughter would cause me to unknowingly kill my own flesh and blood.” My father’s voice trembled as he looked at the footage. I was being dragged by Yolana, clutching my cherished doll, which she carelessly tossed aside. The janitor, who recognized the doll as mine, had picked it up and placed it back where it belonged.
Time seemed to stretch on forever. Every passing second felt like an eternity, and the weight of that silence was unbearable.
