Chapter 2

I' d just come back from college, the air full of the scent of pine and damp earth, that familiar Oakhaven smell.

Dad was gearing up for a week-long logging expedition, a tough job in a remote patch of forest, he was meticulous, always checking his gear, his crew.

Mom was in the kitchen, her movements small, precise, when she turned, her eyes found Dad.

She walked over to him, a rare intensity in her gaze.

Then, she did it.

She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear, and whispered.

Just a few sounds, barely audible even to me standing nearby.

Dad froze.

His face, usually ruddy and cheerful, went pale.

He was known for his dedication, a man who never shirked his duty, but he abruptly announced he wasn't going.

"The trip's off," he said, his voice tight, offering no explanation, risking his job, his reputation.

That night, the unthinkable happened.

Dad, who never sleepwalked, not once in his life, was found at the bottom of the ravine behind our house.

He' d walked straight off the steep embankment in his sleep, or so it seemed.

Sheriff Brody came, asked his questions, his face grim.

He poked around, looked at the muddy path, the drop.

"Tragic accident," he declared, his voice flat, "Stress-induced sleepwalking, maybe."

The town buzzed like a disturbed hive.

The old prophecy about Mom, suddenly it wasn't just a quaint story anymore.

Some whispered it was a curse, that Mom' s words had killed him.

Mom, she just retreated further into her silence, a deeper, more impenetrable quiet.

She rarely left the farmhouse, her world shrinking to its walls, her communication with me reduced to the most basic gestures, her eyes holding a sorrow I couldn't reach.

I tried to talk to her, to ask what she' d said to Dad, why he' d cancelled his trip.

"Mom, please," I' d beg, my voice cracking, "What happened?"

She' d just look at me, her eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own, but her lips remained sealed, her hands still.

It was like talking to a beautifully carved statue, unresponsive, her silence a wall between us, her enigmatic nature more profound than ever.

She withdrew from my life, from everything, retreating into the quiet corners of our home, leaving me alone with my grief, the memory of Dad's laughter, his strong hands, now just ghosts in the lonely rooms.

The official explanation of accidental death felt hollow, a lie I couldn' t swallow, Dad had no history of sleepwalking, none. That was the truth I clung to, the jagged edge of my disbelief.