We didn't speak. The truth was already in the room, sitting in the chair, watching us both as if daring someone to say it out loud. I followed Tasha up the staircase of her aunt's house, every creak underfoot like the house itself was warning us to turn back. She moved like someone walking through a dream she'd had too many times; slow, steady, and unblinking. She didn't knock. She just pushed the bedroom door open like it had always belonged to her.
Auntie Mariam sat at her vanity, brushing her hair as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't built a prison out of lies and locked a woman inside it. Her robe shimmered like ice in the morning light. When her eyes met Tasha's in the mirror, they were unreadable.
"You're back," she said, setting the brush down. "I wondered how long it would take."
Tasha stepped inside. I stayed in the doorway; tension knotted in my chest.
"You lied to me," Tasha said. Her voice wasn't raised. That made it worse. It carried the weight of stillness. Of clarity. "You told me my mother was an addict. You said she abandoned me."
"She did abandon you," Mariam said coolly, standing slowly.
"No," Tasha cut her off. "You abandoned her. You locked her away and called it protection. You told the world she was sick so no one would ask questions. You took my father's money. You took everything."
Mariam's mouth twitched. "She wasn't well. I did what was best."
"No, you did what was best for you."
Then Tasha reached into her bag and pulled out a folded letter. The edges were worn, like it had been held a hundred times. She placed it on the bed.
"She wrote to me. Every year. You kept them. You lied to me. To everyone."
Mariam's mask cracked for a second, just enough to see the woman beneath it. The one who feared being exposed.
"I found the will," Tasha continued. "And the medical records. The ones you paid for. The ones that made her look unfit to raise me."
"You're emotional," Mariam said, her voice tightening.
"I know exactly what I'm saying," Tasha fired back. "You buried my mother alive. And now you want me to keep playing the good little orphan you can control? Not anymore."
Mariam's hand trembled as she reached for the doorframe, her face pale now. She looked around and saw the neighbors watching; saw their judgment, their suspicion.
She hated being seen like this.
"You're embarrassing yourself," she snapped. "You're making a scene."
"You made this scene," Tasha growled, stepping forward. "You built it, lie by lie. You don't get to control how it ends."
The silence that followed was different now. Heavier. It pulsed in the air between them.
Mariam's eyes narrowed. "You ungrateful child," she whispered. "You would've had nothing without me."
Tasha stepped forward. Her hands shook, but she didn't stop. "You told the world she was dangerous. That she was delusional. You kept her locked in a place that wasn't meant for her, just so you could control everything my father left for me."
Suddenly, Mariam lunged forward and slapped the letter off the bed, her voice cracking into something wild. "You think you know everything? You're just a child. You won't last a day without me!"
I stepped forward, unsure whether to stop her or hold her. But she was already gone, moving with a storm in her chest. And then it happened. Mariam's eyes rolled back. Her body pitched sideways, slamming against the frame of the door before crumpling onto the tile. She collapsed.
I rushed forward and dropped to my knees beside her.
"Mariam?" I shook her lightly. "Auntie, can you hear me?"
Nothing.
Her breathing was shallow. Pulse fading.
Tasha stood frozen at the steps, her expression locked somewhere between fury and horror.
"Kerif…" she whispered. "I didn't… I didn't mean to…"
"Call an ambulance!" I shouted.
The housekeeper screaming. Neighbors were already gathering on the street. Mothers with their arms folded. Gardeners peeking through hedges. Children on bikes, frozen mid-pedal. They weren't used to the Miriam's house making noise. But this wasn't noise. This was fire.
The phone slipped once in my hand before I managed to press the emergency number. My fingers were slick with panic, trembling so badly I nearly dropped it again.
"Emergency services. What's your…."
"She's not breathing!" I shouted. "I need an ambulance. Now. 42 Haverly Street. She just collapsed. Please, please hurry."
I didn't wait for more questions. I threw the phone on speaker and dropped to my knees beside her.
"Auntie Miriam," my voice cracked as I tilted her head back, "Come on. Please."
She was too still. I started chest compressions. My palms pressed down in rhythm, counting under my breath even though I could barely breathe myself. Every beat felt like a prayer forced through gritted teeth.
"One, two, three, four."
The front door burst open.
"Tasha!" It was Mrs. Danvers from next door, her nightgown fluttering as she ran in with Mr. Lee right behind her. "Oh my God, what happened?"
"She just... she collapsed," I said, not stopping the compressions. "I don't know. I don't know!"
Mr. Lee said, kneeling beside me to check for a pulse. "They're coming. Just keep going."
I didn't stop. My arms ached. My knees throbbed against the hard floor. But I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Her skin felt too cold. Her lips too pale. Someone sobbed behind me, but the sound felt far away. All I could hear was my own voice, whispering her name over and over like it could tether her to this world.
"Auntie Miriam, please. Stay with me."
The sirens were still far off. Time felt like it had warped, stretched thin and cruel.
"Where the hell are they?" I muttered, pressing harder, faster.
Then, finally, the sound of sirens. Not distant anymore, but real and rushing toward us.
I didn't stop until gloved hands pulled me gently away.
"Back up, we've got it from here!"
Two EMTs stormed through the door, one carrying a medical bag, the other already pulling out gloves. Another paramedic followed, wheeling in a stretcher. I stumbled back, my hands shaking, my chest heaving.
"She just collapsed," I managed to say. "She wasn't breathing. I was doing CPR. I... I don't know how long."
They didn't answer. They were already working, voices sharp and practiced.
"Unresponsive female. No visible trauma. Starting with oxygen. Get the defib ready just in case."
"Auntie Miriam," I whispered. My voice barely worked now. "Please don't go."
Mrs. Danvers pulled me gently toward the wall. "Let them do their work, sweetheart," she said, her voice tight with worry. "You did good. You did all you could."
But it didn't feel like enough. I watched as they pressed an oxygen mask over her face, checked her pulse again, and unzipped her shirt just enough to place the pads from the defibrillator on her chest.
"Charging."
"Wait." I couldn't breathe. "Is she...?"
"She has a pulse," one of them cut in, glancing at me quickly. "It's weak. We're trying to stabilize her for transport."
My knees buckled, and Mr. Lee caught me before I hit the floor. He helped me sit against the wall, though my eyes never left her.
"Auntie Miriam..." I murmured again, as they lifted her onto the stretcher.
"Vitals are coming up. Let's move. Now."
The front door banged open again as they rushed her out. The night air poured in, cool and cruel and too loud. I tried to follow, but my legs wouldn't listen. One of the EMTs paused at the door.
"You coming with us?"
I nodded. "Yeah. We're coming."
Mrs. Danvers touched my arm. "We'll lock up the house. Don't worry."
I barely heard her. Tasha was already running after the stretcher, after the flashing lights.