Chapter 1 The Name I'll Never Forget

It was a rainy afternoon in third grade-one of those endless downpours that felt like the sky itself was mourning. School had just ended, and I stood alone under the front gate, waiting for my mom and dad like always.

But they didn't come.

I waited for over two and a half hours, my uniform soaked, my shoes squelching with every step I took back and forth under the shelter. I told myself they were just stuck in traffic. Maybe they forgot. Maybe their phones died.

But as the minutes dragged into hours, that awful feeling began to sink in. The school tried calling them again and again, but there was no answer.

Five hours later, the principal got a call from the police.

They looked at me like a boulder had just landed on their shoulders. One of the teachers came to me slowly, her eyes glistening. She knelt and wrapped me in a hug I didn't ask for.

"We're so sorry, sweetheart... about your parents. We'll take you to them now."

I didn't speak. I just followed.

They drove me home. But it wasn't home anymore.

The street was blocked with police cars, ambulances, detectives, and people whispering under umbrellas. Yellow tape fluttered in the wind like a barrier between my old life and the nightmare I had just stepped into.

From a distance, I heard my neighbor shouting, "It was him! That bastard Damian! It was omen Damian who did it!"

Damian. That name carved itself into my memory like a scar on wet cement.

My neighbor rushed over and hugged me tightly. "Oh, poor girl," she whispered, and I knew then-my world had broken.

The police later confirmed it. My parents were murdered by men from a loan shark group. Brutal. Cold. Merciless.

There was a funeral. A small one. I sat alone, staring at two plain wooden boxes. No relatives. No friends. No flowers. Just silence.

Afterward, the police told me the house, the money, everything-was taken. Seized by the same people who destroyed my life. I was underage. I had nothing left.

They packed what little I had and took me to an orphanage.

Weeks passed like shadows. No color. No light. Just questions and memories I couldn't escape.

Then one day, everything changed.

A man came for me.

He looked young-maybe 22-and said his name was Matthew. He signed the papers, showed the documents, and became my legal guardian.

"Call me Matt," he told me with a soft smile.

And just like that, I was no longer alone.

But I didn't know then... that he was carrying guilt.

Guilt that would shape everything.