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That has to be it. Right?
As if on cue, my phone buzzes on the table, the sudden noise startling me. I reach for it, expecting a text from a friend or a reminder about my study group. But when I see the unknown number on the screen, a cold knot of dread forms in my stomach.
“Hello?” I answer, my voice is tentative, but my heart is racing.
“Is this Tatum Carter?” The female voice on the other end asks. She’s calm and professional, but something in the tone makes my blood run cold.
“Yes, this is Tatum,” I reply, my fingers tightening around the phone. “Who is this?”
“This is Detective Williams with the city police department. I’m afraid I have some difficult news.”
My breath catches in my throat, the room spinning around me. “What… what happened?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“There’s been an accident,” Officer Williams says gently. “Your mother and stepfather were involved in a car crash earlier this evening. I’m sorry to inform you that neither of them survived.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer, the air leaving my lungs in a painful rush. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head as if that could somehow change what I’ve just heard. “No, that’s not possible. There must be some mistake.”
“I’m so sorry, Tatum. I know this is hard to hear, and I hate being the one to have to inform you, let alone inform you over the phone, but we’re short-staffed tonight, and there's a big fire downtown that's needed most of our on-duty deputies,” the officer continues, her voice filled with sympathy. I know this is a lot to process. Is there someone there with you? Someone who can be with you right now?”
I barely hear her, my mind reeling. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening. They never go out. Unless it’s a special occasion, even tonight, they only did it because they thought it would help me. They wanted me to be able to study. My mother is supposed to be at home right now, watching TV, maybe having a glass of wine while she’s cuddled up with Charles, my stepfather. My mother is supposed to be safe, not lying dead in some twisted wreckage on the side of the road.
“I… I don’t…” I stammer, unable to form a coherent sentence. My vision blurs, tears spilling down my cheeks as the reality of the situation crashes over me like a tidal wave. My phone slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor as I bury my face in my hands, my body shaking with sobs.
The world around me crumbles; the cozy living room that once felt like a haven now feels suffocating. I scan the living room and the pictures along the wall with tear-soaked eyes. Every memory, every trace of my mother, becomes a knife in my heart, a cruel reminder of what I have just lost.
There was no goodbye. No nothing.
She…they are just gone.
I want to scream and tear the room apart. The urge to do anything to make the pain stop intensifying by the second, but all I can do is cry.
Minutes pass, or maybe hours—I can’t tell. Time has lost all meaning. All I know is that the two people who have always been there for me and loved me unconditionally are gone. And with their death, a part of me has died too.
I don’t hear the front door open or the sound of heavy boots on the hardwood floor. I can feel the weight of his gaze before I see him. I look up, my tear-streaked face contorted in grief as I lock eyes with Caius. He’s standing in the doorway, his tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow across the living room rug.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the silence between us thick and suffocating. Caius’s expression is unreadable, his cold blue-green eyes fixed on me, but there is no trace of emotion in them. No sympathy, no concern—just a detached curiosity, as if he were observing a stranger.
My heart twists painfully in my chest. Caius has always been distant, always kept me at arm’s length, but at this moment, I need him. I need someone to hold me, to tell me it will be okay, even if it’s a lie.
“They’re dead,” I choke out, my voice breaking. “Mom and Dad… they’re dead.”
Caius doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just continues to stare at me, his expression unchanged. My sobs grow louder, more desperate, as I search his face for any sign of comfort, any sign that he cares. But there’s nothing. Just the same cold, indifferent gaze. Maybe he didn’t know? A lie. Even I know it. If the detective called me, she likely called Caius as well.
“Caius, please,” I beg, my voice raw with anguish. “Say something. Please.”
Finally, he steps forward. The old wooden floor creaks under his boots as he crosses the room toward me. He stops in front of me, towering over my small, crumpled form; his presence is overwhelming. Holding his stare, my eyes plead with him, but he doesn’t reach out to me. Instead, he crouches down, bringing his face close to mine—so close that his breath is warm against my cheek.
He smells of liquor and smoke, and his bleached hair is disheveled.
“They’re dead,” he repeats, his voice low and flat. “So why are you crying? There is nothing you can do about it now. What the fuck will your tears do?”
I flinch at his words, the harshness of them cutting through me like a knife. I expected him to be cold, to be distant, like always. But not like this. Not this brutal indifference. It feels like a slap in the face, a cruel reminder that I am alone in my grief.
That he doesn’t care. Not about them or me.
Caius only cares about himself. He always has.
“Why would you say that?” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Why are you being so cruel right now?”
