This isn’t real, you read it wrong.
He has been investigating it. When did it happen?
It didn’t happen.
I look down at his phone in my hand and have to read the message again. I have to know.
My stomach churns when I gently lift his hand. Anxiety spikes through me, scared I’ll wake him. But again, he is sleeping too deeply.
I press his finger against the screen, and the phone unlocks.
My heart staggers and misfires as I step back, telling myself to breathe.
My finger swipes down from the top of the screen. He gave me the same phone model as he has, which makes it easy to navigate.
His lists of chats stare back at me. I click on Antonio’s name.
Scrolling slowly, I scan the messages that have gone back and forth over the last few days.
My father is dead.
His body was found in an alleyway.
Badly beaten. Horrific.
Confirmed.
Murdered in cold blood.
I start reading a message that looks like a police report detailing what happened to him, and I want to vomit. In a rush, I click back, not letting myself finish the sentence.
His list of WhatsApp conversations stares at me again, and I flick through it, not knowing what I’m looking for until I see my father’s name.
My heart stops.
My hands hover over the chat. In some ways, I don’t want to click on it.
But I do.
A conversation from the day before my father was killed. Back and forth. Confirming a meeting between Adrian and him. Adrian is short with him. Almost rude. Insisting that this is his last chance and no bullshit will be tolerated.
How could he keep this from me! My father has been dead for a week. Adrian knew the same day it happened, and he kept it from me!
I take a step away from the bed. My legs are like jelly, weak, wanting to collapse beneath me.
My father is dead.
Suddenly, his phone is a lead weight in my hand. It’s hurting my skin, and I throw it onto the bed, backing further away from Adrian and the phone…the phone that has all the information about my father’s horrible death.
Spinning on my heel, I run from the room, unable to bear it another second.
In my own room, I throw on some clothes. Jeans. A t-shirt. A hoodie. My sneakers.
I grab an overnight bag and start shoving things into it without thinking or planning. I need to leave.
I grab the bag, stuffed full, and spin to leave my room, but…
I stop.
