The Morning That Began With Anger
A House Still Demanding, A Woman Already Exhausted
The wedding had barely ended when Mrs. Reyes collapsed into bed, too tired to even remove her apron. But sleep lasted only a few hours.
At 5 a.m., she was awake again.
The house was still dusty. The kitchen still greasy. Guests had left behind crumbs, stains, disorder.
By 11 a.m., her back was bent from exhaustion. Yet upstairs—silence.
No footsteps.
No water running.
No voices.
Her irritation began to simmer.
“Daughter-in-law! Come down and prepare the food!” she shouted from the bottom of the stairs.
No answer.
“Daughter-in-law! Wake up!”
Still nothing.
Her feet throbbed. She refused to climb the stairs again and again. So she grabbed a stick from the kitchen corner and marched upward, anger fueling each step.
“What kind of daughter-in-law sleeps this late?” she muttered. “Newly married and already lazy…”
She pulled back the blanket.
And the world stopped.
The Blood on the Mattress
The white sheets were soaked in dark red.
The stick slipped from her hand.
“My God… what is this?” her voice trembled.
Mia lay unconscious.
Her face was pale. Her lips cracked. Sweat dotted her forehead despite the cold room. Her breathing was shallow—barely there.
“Mia! Wake up!” Mrs. Reyes shook her.
Nothing.
In the corner of the bed lay empty blister packs of medication.
Her heart began pounding violently.
She checked Mia’s pulse.
It was weak.
Suddenly, she screamed:
“Carlo! Come here immediately!”
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