Mother quarreled with him over his secretive lifestyle. However, he never changed his ways. He would spend hours in our library, buried under piles of books. He never seemed to read them, rather he just skimmed through. Mother had developed a resentment towards books and did not step inside the library, and I simply wasn’t allowed there. One day, while dad was away on a trip, I snuck in. I wore his glasses and began going through his books. It was then I understood his obsession. The glasses highlighted certain words – clues.
I lay broken among shards of glass, broken like the window I had just fallen through.
It was a four floor fall. My consciousness was fading, just like my life had been for many years. The shards piercing my skin hurt so mucu lesser than the words that had pierced my heart minutes ago. The words I read on the note had struck me hard. It was a suicide note, signed by me. However, I had never written one. I realised only after I was shoved hard through the window.