No One Came Chapter 15
It had no title, just a few lines of writing:
“If I die one day, will anyone find me?”
“Will Mom regret it?”
“Will Nico cry?”
“Will Dad remember the promise he made me?”
“Forget it. No one will probably ever find me.”
“They never come into my room.”
Mom read that piece of paper over and over.
Eventually, she taped it to the wall above my bed.
She looked at it every night before she went to sleep and every morning when she woke up.
The edges of the paper grew soft from her touch, and the ink started to fade.
So she traced over the words with a pen.
She traced them so many times the paper nearly tore. Then she patched it with tape and kept on looking at it.
She went to see a therapist.
The doctor said she had severe depression and recommended inpatient treatment. She refused.
She just went home, sat in my room, flipped through my things, read my diary, and cried.
Late one night, she walked into the kitchen and took a knife from the butcher block.
I floated beside her, watching.
Her eyes were empty, hollowed out.
She pressed the blade to her wrist.
“Adriana, Mommy’s coming to be with you.”
Just as the steel began to bite into her skin, her phone rang.
It was Grandma.
She ignored it.
The phone kept ringing.
On the eighth ring, she finally put down the knife and answered.
“Angela, what are you doing?”
Grandma’s voice was old and frail.