Chapter 4 - The Witnesses at the Doorway
Heavy, panicked footsteps pounded rapidly up the wooden staircase, sounding like a stampede of cattle in a narrow chute.
My mother appeared in the doorway first, breathless and disheveled, one trembling hand clamped tightly over her mouth to stifle whatever scream was trying to escape her throat. Right behind her came Natalie, still holding the green wine bottle casually by the neck, her face flushed from the afternoon sun, looking as if this medical emergency had simply interrupted an interesting conversation.
"Call 911!" I screamed again, my voice cracking, tears finally breaking free and streaming down my cheeks as I shook Rosie’s unresponsive shoulder. "She’s not breathing! Look at her lips, she’s turning blue! Call an ambulance right now!"
My mother stared down at the white bed, her eyes wide with shock, but she didn't move an inch. She didn't reach for her phone. She didn't drop to her knees to help. She stood frozen in the doorway like a spectator watching a tragedy on a movie screen, paralyzed not by grief, but by the terrifying realization that her pristine public image was finally imploding.
Natalie’s expression shifted, but it didn't curdle into guilt or remorse. It didn't soften into fear for her niece.
Instead, it curdled into pure, unadulterated rage.
She wasn't looking down at Rosie’s blueing lips or my frantic, bleeding hands. Her eyes were locked entirely on me—on my open mouth, on my screaming voice, on the gathering shadows of other family members crowding up the stairs behind her, staring in horror at the ugly, bleeding heart of the family secret laid bare for everyone to witness.
"Stop screaming, you psycho," Natalie snapped, her voice hissing like a lit fuse.
"Call 911! She's dying! Look at her!" I shrieked, tears blinding my vision.
My phone had slipped out of my hand somewhere in the frantic scramble across the room and was lying uselessly on the floor near the bedside table. I stretched my left hand out toward it while keeping my right palm pressed flat against Rosie’s chest, pushing down rhythmically, trying to force air and life back into her small, motionless body, praying to any god who would listen for a miracle.
May you like
Natalie took two sharp, deliberate steps forward into the room.
The green wine bottle in her hand caught the hallway light, gleaming with a wicked, iridescent emerald sheen. Just before it swung downward toward the side of my head, I saw my sister’s face twist into an ugly snarl, and every lingering illusion I had ever harbored about family shattered forever.
