As the days stretched, the tension within the mansion reached a fever pitch, threatening to tear my family apart at the seams. Funeral preparations were undergoing, and my eyes were always around my mother’s phone, while she remained glued to it. She kept on receiving phone calls that would make her jump from her seat, leaving her uneasy. One time, she excused herself mid preparations and said we can continue without her. She had to run somewhere. That was after she received a phone call. I tried asking where she was going, that I could accompany her as she needs not to be alone, my aunt agreed with me, but she bit my head off, saying she needed time for herself, she needs no babysitter. Finally, everything was getting together, her actions left everyone with questions, she would leave the house and come back very late, had secret phone calls she either took in her room or in the garden outside. Refused to sleep in her room saying everything reminded him of dad. Refused to wear like a widowed wife, her once-imperious facade crumbling under the weight of her own guilt and shame. I grew increasingly desperate, I needed to uncover what happened. Meanwhile, Daniel retreated into himself, his once-bright spirit dimmed by the shadows that lurked at the edges of his mind. The detective has called twice this week. Apparently, the case is running cold like ice. No new evidence has come and the only thing tying me to the murder is the blood, without the murder weapon they had to look at other alternatives. I was glad to hear that, but I needed to do this for my dad, find who really killed him so that he can finally rest in peace.

I kept on poking the snake in its hole, I was hoping that mother would somewhat fall apart and maybe slip something. A day before the funeral I knocked in her room and found her curled up in her bed, sobbing, holding my dad’s favorite shirt. She looked crushed, devastated, and I too felt sorry for her. It was at this point that I realized that she too lost someone precious to her. She patted next to her, and I climbed on top of the bed too, facing her. We sat like that for eternity. Until she broke the silence.

“Your father loved this shirt so much. It was given to him by your grandfather, and he used to wear it with everything. We used to fight over it at times as it was old fashioned.”

I looked at her as she smiled reminiscing of their time together, but I was her for one thing: to ask questions and fish for answers.

I cleared my throat, “He was a good man indeed, pity he was killed like a dog, and I am talking about the fall.”

My mother shifted uncomfortably. My eyes quickly fixated on the phone that was revealed under her pillow. This would be the perfect time to snoop. Silence filled the room again. With only the echoes of people busy around the house with the final preparation for tomorrow.

“I know you didn’t kill your father, you wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she said as she stood up and sat while her back was facing me. I quickly took the phone and put it in my pocket. I stood up too and sat on the couch that was opposite her. She investigated open space like she was thinking of what to say next.

“Sometimes we take for granted what we have because of a flame that will soon die out. Soon we are trapped and unable to get out. Your father loved me, there is absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for me, but he wasn’t perfect. He never had time for me. Our marriage was doomed years ago, we kept it good looking for his business associates. He couldn’t afford a scandal.”

I didn’t want to disturb her; it seems like she had a lot on her chest. Wait, did she just hint that this had something to do with a lover? Did she find solace in someone else? Maybe that’s what I needed to finally crack this case. We were disturbed by a knock on the door, the ladies were ready for her to dress the body at the morgue. It’s funny how suddenly a loved one turns into “the body” after passing. From being my father to his body, life is unfair sometimes.