Larissa wore a soft pink dress and carried herself with a grace that fit effortlessly into our family. My father seemed younger that day, smiling in a way that made everyone around him smile too. There was laughter, clinking glasses, shared stories, and the sense that a beautiful new chapter was beginning.
As we were tidying up after the celebration, my sister teased him gently.
He raised an eyebrow and replied, “Go mind your business, you troublemaker,” before taking Larissa’s hand and retreating to the bedroom. Despite our playful suggestion to redecorate the room, he had refused, saying the familiar space brought him comfort.
Sometime around midnight, I woke to an odd noise. At first, I thought it was the wind rustling through the garden. But then came a sharp, startled cry. My sister heard it too, and we both rushed to my father’s room.
From the other side of the door, we heard Larissa’s trembling voice: “No! Please… don’t do that!”
Heart racing, I pushed the door open.
What I saw stopped me in my tracks—but not for the reasons I feared.
