"We are very sorry for your loss, Mrs Varghese. "
Sam’s colleagues were leaving.
Lisa nodded, wrapped in the mourning blacks. The house was still filled with concerned neighbours and friends. They had just returned from the cemetery after burying him.
Her husband.
The only man she had ever fallen in love with. They were married for 18 years...
He was dead.
Brutally murdered.
"Tsk tsk... I feel so bad for her. Such bad luck she has. First her elder daughter committed suicide and now her husband is dead. The robber could have just taken the money and valuables. Why did he have to kill him? " Old Mr. T said with tears in his eyes.
"Yeah! I heard! Some people say she was pregnant when she set herself on fire. In their own backyard! Is it true? "
"Yes. She was just 15!" Someone added.
"At least Lisa still has Mia, her younger daughter." Mr. T was rubbing his eyebrows.
Lisa walked into the living room.
"Shhhhh! She can hear you!" Mrs. T snapped.
She did hear. And she thought about her dead daughter. Her own flesh and blood. Her first born.
Two years had gone by, but she could still hear her screams.
They had never found even a suicide note.
But she didn’t need one now.
Everything had fallen into place two nights back, when she saw ...
She entered Mia’s room. Her 5 year old daughter was still sleeping. Heavily sedated. She had not spoken a word since..
Lisa’s eyes wandered towards the photograph clutched in Mia’s tiny arms. It was the last picture she had taken of her two daughters.
Very gently, she pried it out. It felt warm. Just like the blood on the knife when she had dropped it in the gutter before calling the police.
"He will never be able to do it to Mia. I promise you. It’s over." She whispered, more to herself than to the innocent smile, captured in the picture.
And then she cried... like she had never cried before.
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© 2009 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled.
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