A Missing Key 218 Missed Calls One Family Secret novel Chapter 67

Chapter 6** Mom was frozen in place, her body suspended in a moment that felt like an eternity. Kneeling in the dirt, she was utterly still, as if time itself had stopped.

Dad approached with heavy steps, his gaze drawn inexorably to the freshly disturbed soil in our yard, a dark wound in the earth. The bag of ribs he had been carrying slipped from his fingers, tumbling down to the ground with a sickening, wet thud. The crimson bones scattered across the dirt like fallen leaves, stark against the brown earth. His eyes, wide with disbelief, were glued to the gaping pit before him. And there it was-my face, swollen and unrecognizable, a haunting image of decay, still clad in the pink pajamas he had so lovingly bought for me.

Even in death, even in this grotesque state, he recognized me immediately. “This… is…” His voice trembled, cracking under the weight of his horror. Mom, paralyzed by fear, could not find the words to respond. She simply shook her head, a frantic motion that betrayed her disbelief. Dad’s body swayed, as if all the strength had been siphoned from him in that dreadful instant. But then, as if a dam had burst within him, a torrent of grief and rage erupted from his chest. “AHHHHH-!” He surged forward, shoving Mom to the ground with a force that seemed to come from a place of pure anguish.

He collapsed beside my lifeless body, his trembling hands reaching out in desperation to close my eyes-eyes that remained wide open, frozen in a final expression of suffocation. But he faltered, unable to perform this last act of love. Those unseeing eyes continued to stare at him, unblinking. “Mara…” In a whirlwind of emotion, he whipped around, his bloodshot eyes narrowing into a glare directed at Mom, who sat on the ground, a picture of shock and despair. He crawled toward her, his hands shaking with rage, and struck her face again and again. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

The sharp sound of his hand meeting her cheek sliced through the stillness of the night, echoing like a thunderclap. “You said she went to school! You said she was out with friends! You said she was FINE!” “How is she HERE?! How did she end up like THIS?!” Mom took the blows without resistance, her spirit seemingly crushed beneath the weight of the moment. She neither cried nor attempted to shield herself; her cheeks began to swell, turning a painful shade of red.

Her eyes were vacant, lost in a fog of disbelief, and she began to repeat a single phrase, her voice mechanical and devoid of emotion: “She was throwing a tantrum… just throwing a tantrum… she wouldn’t listen…” The commotion had drawn the neighbors, their curiosity piqued by the chaos unfolding in our once-peaceful yard. Mrs. Patterson peered out from her window, her eyes widening in horror as she took in the ghastly sight. A scream tore from her throat, and she hurriedly dialed 911, the urgency of her voice cutting through the night air.

Before long, the wail of sirens filled the atmosphere, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment. When the police finally arrived, they were met with a scene that would haunt them for years. A man knelt by the pit, sobbing uncontrollably, his body shaking as if he might collapse from the weight of his grief. A woman sat nearby, dazed and muttering incoherently to herself, her mind clearly unraveling. And at the center of it all, a girl’s broken, half-excavated corpse lay in stark contrast to the vibrant life that had once filled the yard.