BENEATH THE SHEETS

The photo frame sat on top of the white coffin. Carmel’s smile beamed out at the crowd like it didn’t know it was his own funeral.

I stood just a few feet away, arms stiff at my sides, eyes locked on the flowers arranged around my son’s name. I hadn’t blinked in minutes.

Around me, the room buzzed with black clothes, cold stares, and low whispers that didn’t bother staying low anymore.

“I still don’t understand how she didn’t notice the door.”

“She left the boy with Ethan and still found a way to mess it up.”

“Maybe she was distracted with her nails or something.”

“If it were me, I’d never leave a child alone like that.”

I couldn't speak.  I just stared at the coffin like I was waiting for Carmel to sit up and tell them all to shut up.

“Enough!” my mother snapped from the side, her voice cutting clean through the murmurs.

All eyes turned. Ethan’s aunt flinched back a little, but her mouth stayed tight.

“You want someone to blame? Blame the person who was actually at home,” my mother hissed. “You all keep whispering, but not one of you was there. Not one of you saw what happened.”

“We don’t need to see it,” another woman said sharply. “We know who the mother is.”

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. I still didn’t say anything. My mouth trembled, but no words came out.

I wasn’t crying. I couldn’t.

Not here. Not when they were all waiting to see me fall.

“She didn’t even lock the door,” someone muttered again.

That one did something.

I turned my head slowly. My voice was flat.

“I left him with his father.”

Silence.

My mother stepped closer to me, protective now, eyes flashing.

“You people forget too easily. She’s the one who lost a child. Not you.”

But no one said sorry. No one looked guilty. They just stood, quiet, judging.

I took a deep breath, like I needed to survive the next five seconds.

I didn’t move as another flower dropped onto the coffin. I didn’t even flinch when someone shoved past my shoulder, almost pushing me to the floor.

My mind kept drifting to the same thought over and over again.

Where is Ethan?

I scanned the crowd. Black dresses. Tear-streaked cheeks. Whispering mouths. But not him.

I turned slightly, my voice low, speaking to no one in particular.

“He’s not even here.”

My mother looked at me. “What did you say?”

My jaw clenched. “Everyone’s here. Pointing fingers at me. But where is he? Where is Ethan?”

I didn’t mean to say it so loud, but I didn’t care anymore. My voice cracked as I added under my breath:

“It was his son too.”

                          ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

I stood in front of the door for a long time.

Just stared at the handle.

My hand reached for it… then dropped. Then reached again. I wasn’t sure what I was doing.

Did I lock it that day?

I touched the knob. Turned it slightly. Locked.

I unlocked it. Locked it again.

Did it again. Again.

‘Was it this way? Did I leave it halfway? Did I pull it shut or just close it behind me?’

My breathing got heavier. My hands shook on the doorknob.

I locked it. Unlocked it. Stepped inside. Closed it again. Then reopened it, tried locking it from the outside, turned the handle twice, then opened it once more.

Like if I replayed it enough, I’d find the moment I lost my son.

At some point, my knees buckled. I dropped into a squat and pulled my knees to my chest. My arms wrapped around my legs tightly.

My voice cracked out of my throat like breath.

Then I heard something.

A noise.

Inside the house.

I looked up. Stiff. Alert. Confused.

I stood slowly, my hand still on the doorknob. The sound got louder. Thumps. Something that didn’t fit.

I stepped in. Quiet.

Another thump.

And something else. Breathing. Fast. Hard. A soft moan.

I froze in the hallway. The noise was coming from the bedroom.

I didn’t want to move, but my body kept going—step by step, my feet were light like I was afraid to disturb something that already knew it was guilty.

Another moan. Louder. This time followed by a gasp and a hit against the headboard.

My heart pounded.

I reached the bedroom door. My hand hovered.

Then I pushed it open.

Ethan was on top of someone. Moving. His back slick with sweat.

The woman beneath him arched and moaned breathlessly, “Ohh! I'm almost there!”

The black bag in my hand slipped to the floor with a soft thud.

Both of them froze.

Ethan twisted around, shock plastered on his face. Slowly it shifted to indifference.

“You picked a hell of a time to come home,” he slurred, slouching against the wall with his shirt unbuttoned and belt loose. His breath stank of whiskey.

The whole room reeked of liquor, sweat, and someone else.

The woman pulled the bed sheet up to cover her face in a panic, shivering underneath it.

I walked forward slowly.

Like I wasn’t even in my body anymore.

I climbed onto the bed, ignoring Ethan.

“Go ahead. Scream. Slam something. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

But I wasn’t listening.

My eyes were locked on the woman hiding under the covers. Something about her made my chest feel tight.

Familiar.

I reached out.

My fingers stopped just before grabbing the sheet.

I paused.

Turning my head, I didn’t care anymore. Knowing wouldn’t change anything.

But suddenly, without warning, my hand yanked the sheet away.

The face beneath it snapped into view.

I staggered back.

It was her.