A Missing Key 218 Missed Calls One Family Secret novel Chapter 64

Chapter 3** When I finally blinked open my eyes once more, an unsettling realization washed over me: I was suspended in mid-air, hovering above the yard that had once been my sanctuary. Peering down, I was confronted by a grotesque clay sculpture-the distorted form that had once been my own.

It was a haunting reminder of my existence, now reduced to this lifeless figure. I had died. In that moment, I understood that I had become a mere clay effigy, forever entwined with the very earth that had cradled my life. The stillness of the scene was shattered when the door creaked open, and there she was-Mom, Catherine-stepping out into the dreary, rain-soaked yard. As she walked, her gaze fell upon the spot where my body lay buried beneath the soil. “Still throwing a tantrum?” she muttered under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Out in this downpour, and you still don’t have the sense to come home. It would’ve been better if you’d just died out there. Don’t go getting sick again and running to my husband to rat me out.” With that sharp remark, she turned on her heel and retreated back inside the house, leaving me floating, a ghostly observer of her retreat. I drifted after her, my spirit trailing behind as she moved into the dimly lit interior. Dad lay in bed, unconscious, a damp cloth resting on his fevered brow. The sight of him, so vulnerable and helpless, twisted my heart in ways I thought no longer possible.

Mom approached his bedside, her fingers brushing against his forehead as she checked his temperature with the back of her hand. She then fetched a glass of water, dipped a cotton swab into it, and tenderly moistened his cracked, parched lips. Her movements were imbued with such gentleness, such care, that it was as if a daughter named Mara had never graced this home at all. I floated closer to Dad, gazing at his pale, drawn face, my heart aching in a way that felt foreign and yet all too familiar. I didn’t need to breathe, but the weight of sorrow pressed down on me nonetheless.

It was then that I heard Mom lean in closer to him, her voice a soft whisper in the stillness. “Vincent, now there’s no one left to steal your love away. Your eyes can only be for me.” And then she began to hum a lullaby. “Sleep, baby, sleep… my darling little one…” The melody echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of my childhood. It was my favorite song, the one she used to sing to me countless times, cradling me in her arms until I drifted off to sleep. But now, that once comforting tune pierced through my soul like a knife, igniting a pain that felt insurmountable.

Just then, I noticed Dad’s brow furrowing in his feverish slumber, and he mumbled something indistinct, a name that sent a chill down my spine. “Mara… my Mara…” Mom’s humming ceased abruptly, the warmth in her expression vanishing like mist in the morning sun, replaced by a darkness that was both fierce and unsettling. She glared at Dad, and in a sudden, frantic motion, she yanked the blanket higher over his body, nearly obscuring his head entirely. “DON’T say her name! DON’T think about her!” she hissed, her voice laced with venom.