“Ms. Williams, can I speak with you outside?” I stepped out of your room at the care facility to speak with the nurse. “We’ve done everything we can for your mother. However, she has experienced a precipitous decline and doesn’t have much time left. It’s time to say your goodbyes.” She gave me a meaningful glance and left. I walked back into the room and sat down by your bedside. I’d always considered myself stoic, but seeing you like this - frail, small - was bringing up unexpected emotions. How could I reconcile this with the imposing presence I’d known all my life? I remember when you brought me home from the adoption agency. I was five years old, hurt and afraid and lonely, and I had trouble trusting that anyone could want me. I know I must have been difficult - I couldn’t understand why you had chosen me and was convinced you would send me away again. But you told me how much you’d always wanted a little girl and that I was a dream come true. Months passed and I became comfortable with you both. I remember the first time I called him Dad - I thought he was going to cry from happiness. I’d gone from a broken, lonely child with nothing and no one to a happy girl with two loving parents, a beautiful home, and everything I could ever have wished for. The next few years were wonderful - I felt like a princess, loved in a way I thought only happened in the Disney movies we watched in the orphanage. But then things began to change. Glances lingered too long. Embraces became uncomfortable. Caresses of love became something else. I remember the first night it happened. I was lying in bed unable to fall asleep when I heard the door open. Then there were footsteps. A weight on the bed. And “shhh.” From then on, it happened every few weeks. I couldn’t look at my father anymore. He said he would always protect me. He lied. Then he died - an accident, you said. But I was the one who found the body. And the note saying how sorry he was. From there I grew up, moved away, and started my own life. We never really spoke - I tried to put the pain and anger behind me, but I couldn’t. And then I heard you’d gotten sick. Dementia, they said. And that you’d ended up here. As your only family, I was able to obtain Power of Attorney and access the family accounts, which is how I was able to incentivise the nurse. And arrange for the drugs that brought you here. I still remember the note I found beside my father’s body - I never showed it to anyone else: “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you from her.” Your mind is going now, so you may have forgotten what you did. But I never will. I hope you burn in hell. #SurvivorStory #HumanityPrevails #TechThinkTank #HauntedHotel #GhostStory #SpookyTech #SubscribeNow #TerrorTales
Feb 23 202418 Min.