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Sunlight broke through the curtains and landed on my face, pulling me back into reality. But the moment I opened my eyes, I remembered everything. The blood. The scream. The silence. The man. The knife.
Panic gripped me. The blade slipped from my hand as I stumbled to the door, tears blinding me. I ran next door, desperate, broken. A woman opened the door, startled by the sight of an eight-year-old child covered in blood.
Between sobs, I told her what I could bear to say: "My uncle… he killed my aunt." Her eyes widened, and without hesitation, she and her husband followed me back. The moment they saw the scene, they were speechless.
But fear overtook me. What if they blamed me? What if I went to jail? So I told a story—one born of panic and survival. I said my aunt had threatened herself with a knife, demanding my uncle change his drinking ways. A struggle ensued, and in the chaos, she accidentally stabbed him. He pushed her in reflex, and she fell—her head crashing into the glass table.
It was messy. But it was enough to quiet the questions.
They asked for my parents' number. An hour later, my mother arrived. When she saw her only sister's lifeless body, grief consumed her. She wept until her voice cracked. She didn't ask too many questions—just held me close, shielding me from judgment and the eyes of the world.
The police were never involved. The man who caused it all was already gone. My mom chose silence over scandal. And just like that, we returned home.
I was meant to stay with my aunt for two months—just two months. But she never made it past the first. She'd promised me laughter, adventures, and birthday memories. Instead, I was left with silence, trauma, and a burden far too heavy for a child.
The days blurred together. Her funeral came quickly, and my mother's tears flowed endlessly as the earth swallowed her sister.
Her husband's family came, heads bowed, offering apologies. My mother accepted their words—not because she forgave, but because she wanted peace. The damage was done.
I was just a child. But something inside me changed forever.
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