AVAAs I sat in the living room, the ticking of the wall clock seemed louder than usual, each tick amplifying the tension in the air. I glanced at it for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few minutes. Any second now, my father would walk through the door, and I still didn’t know what to expect.Ever since I received his call a few days ago, I had been on edge. It wasn’t like my father to sound so desperate, to insist on meeting in person with such urgency. What could possibly be so important that it couldn't be discussed over the phone? I’d replayed the conversation in my head a thousand times, trying to discern any hidden meaning behind his words. But all I could sense was an underlying tension, something that didn’t sit well with me.The thought of seeing him again filled me with a mix of dread and reluctant anticipation. My mind raced as I tried to imagine what he could possibly want from me now. Had something happened to Isabella? My heart clenched at the thought. What
AVAThe dining room was unusually quiet, the only sounds coming from the clinking of silverware against fine china and the soft murmur of conversation from the other end of the table. I could feel the weight of Uncle John’s gaze on me, even before he spoke. My stomach twisted into knots as I anticipated the inevitable confrontation.“Ava,” Uncle John’s voice cut through the quiet, smooth yet edged with a sternness that never failed to make me uneasy. “I trust you’ve prepared the monthly expenditure statement?”I swallowed hard and nodded, placing my fork down carefully beside my plate. “Yes, Uncle John. It’s on your desk. I made sure to include every detail.”He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. We need to keep a close eye on our finances, especially with everything that’s been happening lately.”I could feel Clara’s eyes on me from across the table, sharp and watchful, like a predator waiting to strike. I hesitated, knowing that what I was about to say would likely set off a
AVA The only sound I could focus on was the loud stomping of my feet and my erratic heartbeat that filled my ears accompanied by my heaving breathing.Anger would be a terrible understatement of what I was going through.I was exasperated, filled with fury, disgusted and frustrated at how low my own father would go to just to extort money and sympathy from me.How could he lie so confidently to my face, playing a facade card of regret so as to elicit money from me? What sort of father is that?Now, for the first time, I had actually appeared to be deceitful and cunning with funds left in my care. The satisfied look on Clara's face the moment I got trapped in my father's web of lies and tricks made my stomach churn.Tears glistened in my ears as I approached the front door of my parent's home but I blinked them back, a stern resolve washing across my face.I was going through so much already, I didn't want to add or to complicate things further for me.Without knocking on the door, I
LIAMI didn’t belong here. That was the thought that looped in my mind every time I opened my eyes to the sterile white walls, the muffled cries from the other patients, and the smell of antiseptic that clung to everything. This was not my life. I wasn’t supposed to be here. But here I was, locked away in that hellhole, treated like I was some kind of monster. How did it come to this? When would this nightmare end?I am not a mad man. Nobody wants to believe me.The memories were blurry, like a bad dream I couldn’t shake off. I remembered getting angry—so angry that I couldn’t think straight. But the details were hazy. It was like I was watching myself from the outside, unable to stop what was happening. It scared me because it reminded me of how I used to be, back when my parents were still alive.The rage, the fits—it all started back then. But I thought I had it under control. I thought I was past that. So why did it come back now? And why in the dining, of all places?It was ha
AVAThe hospital was colder than I remembered, sterile and unwelcoming. As I walked through the long, winding corridors, I tried to steady my breathing, focusing on the steady click of my heels on the polished floor. I was here to fight for Liam, to prove that he wasn’t the man they were making him out to be. He wasn’t violent. He wasn’t crazy. But as I neared the nurse’s station, a knot of fear twisted in my stomach. What if they didn’t believe me?I approached a young nurse who was busy typing away at her computer. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I need to speak with the senior doctor. It’s about my husband, Liam.”She looked up, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. “Dr. Reynolds is in his office. It’s down the hall, third door on the left.”“Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile before I turned away.As I walked down the hall, I could feel my pulse quickening. The walls seemed to close in on me, the fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh shadow
Davies stormed into his father's study, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he pushed the heavy wooden door open with a force that rattled the books on the shelves. His face was flushed with anger, and he clenched his fists at his sides as he approached the massive desk where his father, John, sat reviewing some paperwork.John looked up, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. He knew his son well enough to recognize when something was wrong, and Davies's demeanor screamed trouble. “What’s got you in such a state, Davies?” he asked, his voice steady and controlled.Davies didn’t waste any time. “I just got off the phone with the doctor,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “He informed me that Ava was at the hospital the other day, demanding Liam’s medical report from the night he was sent to the asylum.”John's face darkened, his calm facade quickly fading. “What?” he barked, slamming a fist down on the desk. Papers fluttered to the floor, but neither of them paid any a
AVAIt had been two days since Uncle John barged into my room, furious, accusing me of God knows what. The confrontation left me shaken, but more than that, it fueled my resolve. Time was running out—every moment Liam spent in that asylum felt like a lifetime, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him being there any longer. I had to find a way to get him out. But how? The walls around him, both literal and metaphorical, were thick with deception and lies. And I was running out of time.I was pacing my room, phone in hand, when I finally decided to call Mark. He was more than just an employee—he was Liam’s personal health care giver, someone who knew Liam well and had been close to him before everything fell apart. If anyone could help me, it was him.“Mark, it’s Ava,” I said as soon as he picked up. “Ava," he greeted, his voice sounding both cautious and concerned. "Any news about Liam? I have been hearing the news concerning his residence at the mental assylum, how is he? When will he
AVAAs I walked through the mansion, my heart pounded in my chest, the weight of what I was about to do pressing down on me.The mansion was eerily quiet, with only the faint hum of the refrigerator. I tiptoed through the dimly lit hallways, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew I had to be careful—one wrong move and I could blow my cover. I had waited for this moment for days, pretending to go along with the daily routine while secretly planning my search for answers.I headed towards the storage room, where Liam kept some of his older things. It was a place we rarely went, which made it the perfect spot to start my search. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the door handle, but before I could open it, I heard footsteps approaching. I quickly turned, only to see Davies striding down the hallway toward me.“Ava,” he called out, a sly smile curling his lips. “What brings you to this part of the house? You never come here.”His tone was casual, but there was something unsettlin