After the officers left, the house fell into a strange, heavy silence that felt almost suffocating. Dad and Mom didn't say a word as they walked slowly back to their room, their footsteps dragging as though the weight of the situation rested on their shoulders. The door closed behind them with a soft click, but somehow, that sound echoed loudly in my chest.
I was left alone at the dining table.
The plates were still scattered across the table, half-eaten food abandoned in the middle of everything that had just happened. It felt wrong to even move, as if doing something as normal as cleaning would somehow erase the seriousness of the moment.
Even though Aunty Bella wasn't always kind to me—she had said things that hurt, things I never spoke about—I still felt bad for her. No one deserved something like this. No one deserved to be taken away, to disappear without a trace.
I folded my hands quietly on the table and bowed my head.
"Please, God… keep her safe," I whispered under my breath. "Wherever she is, protect her."
That was all I could do.
After a while, I forced myself to stand up. My legs felt weak, but I pushed through it. I gathered the plates one by one, careful not to make too much noise, as though even the clinking of dishes might disturb something fragile in the air. I washed them slowly, watching the water run over my hands, my thoughts drifting far away.
When I was done, I wiped my hands on a towel and made my way to my parents' room.
The door was slightly open, and I hesitated for a moment before stepping in. They were both seated close to each other, speaking in low tones. Their faces looked heavier than before—tired, worried, and weighed down by fear they were trying hard to hide.
I walked closer to them, my heart tightening at the sight.
Without saying much, I reached out and held their hands. Their skin felt cold.
"Everything will be fine," I said softly, trying to sound stronger than I felt. "I'm sure the police will come back with something good soon. They won't just leave it like this."
They looked at me, but their expressions didn't change much. Dad sighed deeply, while Mom gave a faint nod, as though she wanted to believe me but couldn't fully hold on to hope.
After a brief silence, Mom gently squeezed my hand.
"Ami," she said softly, "go and rest in your room. Don't let all this get to you. You shouldn't carry this kind of stress."
I wanted to argue, to tell her I was fine, but the look in her eyes stopped me.
"We believe your aunty is fine," she added, though her voice carried a trace of doubt.
I nodded slowly.
"Okay, Mom."
As I turned to leave, I glanced back one more time. Even though they tried to act strong, worry was written all over their faces. It was in the way Dad rubbed his forehead repeatedly, in the way Mom stared blankly at nothing.
I left the room quietly and closed the door behind me.
Back in my room, everything felt too normal, and that made it worse. My bed was neatly arranged, my books stacked where I had left them, my window slightly open to let in the morning breeze. It was like the world outside hadn't changed at all, even though everything inside me felt unsettled.
I picked up a book and sat on my bed, hoping it would distract me. I tried to read, but the words blurred together. My mind kept going back to Aunty Bella.
Where was she?
Was she scared?
Was she hurt?
I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away.
Eventually, exhaustion crept in. Without even realizing it, my eyes grew heavy, and I lay back on the bed. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it pulled me into a restless darkness.
The next morning, I woke up to a loud bang on my door.
I jerked upright, my heart racing wildly in my chest. For a split second, fear took over—I thought it was criminals, that something terrible had followed us home.
Then I heard Dad's voice.
"Ami, open this door right now!"
My body froze.
There was something in his tone—anger, urgency—that sent chills down my spine.
Fear gripped me tightly.
What did I do this time?
Did something happen to Aunty Bella?
Did the police find something?
So many thoughts flooded my mind all at once, each worse than the last. My hands felt cold as I slowly got out of bed and walked toward the door.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
When I finally reached the door, I hesitated for a brief second before opening it.
"Good morning, Dad," I uttered quietly as I looked up at him.
The expression on his face caught me off guard. It wasn't just worry anymore—it was anger. Deep, burning anger.
From the way he had banged on the door, I didn't expect anything easy, but this… this felt different.
The next thing I heard was—
"When did you start working with kidnappers?" he demanded, his voice sharp and accusing. "Don't I cover your needs enough? You even had the heart to do it to your own aunty!"
At that moment, I didn't know what to say.
Kidnappers? How? When?
The questions filled my mind, but no words came out. It was like my voice had been taken from me. My head began to spin, and my chest tightened painfully.
I stared at him, confused, hurt, and completely lost.
Before I could react, a thunderous slap landed across my face.
"You thought I wouldn't find out?" he shouted.