A letter to the post man

After taking Geynie's body to the hospital, we returned home. The grief we experienced in the following days was unbearable. The house felt heavy with silence, broken only by muffled sobs and the occasional whisper. My father shut himself away, his anguish clear in the way he avoided my gaze.

Some time passed, and the police decided to question me about everything that had happened. Sitting in their cold, sterile office, I recounted the truth, leaving no lies. I told them about Damian, my connection to him, and every event leading up to the tragedy. They already had evidence from the officers who witnessed Geynie's confession. Because of this, they couldn't hold me guilty.

But while I had been honest with the police, I hadn't told my father the full truth. He believed I had sought Geynie out to make amends, to bond with her as family. In reality, my initial intent was far from noble. I wanted her to pay for what she had done to Damian and the chaos she brought into our lives.

When the rest of the family found out about my plans, their disgust toward me grew. They didn't see the grief I carried or the regrets that weighed me down. All they saw was someone they now detested. My father, broken as he was, refused to speak to me. His silence was worse than any shouting. It was as if I didn't exist in his eyes anymore.

I became a ghost in my own home. The once familiar walls felt foreign, every corner of the house a reminder of my failures. I wandered through the days in a haze, feeling the deepest loneliness I had ever known. The family treated me as an outsider, and I was too ashamed to fight it.

Archie was the only one who stayed by my side. Her quiet loyalty was my one solace in a world that seemed to have turned against me. Even Alex, though not openly hostile, kept his distance, unsure of how to bridge the gap my actions had created.

The police informed me that their investigation was ongoing and that they would clarify everything soon. Until then, I was free to go. But freedom felt like a hollow concept. Everywhere I turned, I was met with coldness and disdain.

A strange sense of déjà vu settled over me, an eerie echo of the time when my mother had died. The house was steeped in mourning, but back then, it was my mother's absence that left a void. Now, it was Geynie's.

The family arranged a burial for Geynie. It was solemn and bittersweet, with all the grandeur of a celebration of life, as if they wanted to honor her despite the pain she had caused. Diana wept uncontrollably, her cries piercing through the quiet ceremony.

I stood apart from the family, unable to shake the feeling that I didn't belong there. In Diana's eyes, I was a monster. No matter how much love she had shown me in the past, all she saw now was someone who had been complicit in her daughter's death. And maybe she was right. Desperate as I was to undo the damage, I couldn't erase the fact that Geynie had died because of me.

I retreated to my room after the funeral and refused to come out for weeks. The walls of my room became both my sanctuary and my prison. My pillow was soaked with tears, and my reflection in the mirror became unrecognizable. My under-eyes turned black from sleepless nights, the toll of guilt etched into my face.

One day, as I sat staring blankly at the ceiling, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. The sound jolted me from my daze. For a moment, I hesitated, unsure if I had the energy to speak to anyone. But something made me pick up.

It was Catherine.

Her voice was as sweet and soothing as ever, a faint echo of the comfort I had once known. At first, I didn't want to tell her anything. I couldn't bring myself to explain the chaos my life had become. But before I could steer the conversation away, she broke some shocking news.

She asked me to stay with her in the northern lands for a while.

Her invitation took me by surprise, cutting through the fog of my despair. It was a lifeline, an opportunity to escape the suffocating weight of my home and the judgment that came with it. For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope