The Deaths

Dad cried again, and just like before, I felt the urge to cry with him, but I fought it back as hard as I could. My lips trembled, but I bit down on them until I almost tasted blood. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. I needed to be strong, even though inside I was breaking into pieces.

“Dad, everything will be okay. Please, stop crying,” I whispered, forcing a steady voice. My hands clenched into fists. If he kept crying like this, I was afraid that I’d give up too—that I’d sink into the same hopelessness he carried in his eyes. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I had my father and my brother to fight for. I had to stay strong for them, even if my own heart was already shredded.

Dad’s red eyes dropped to my back. He had seen it—the broken egg that had been thrown at me earlier, its sticky yolk dripping down my torn clothes. He had seen my scraped knees, where stones had cut through my skin and made blood trickle down my legs. He had seen it all, and instead of anger, there were only tears on his face. That hurt me more than the bruises.

Why? Why wouldn’t he fight for us?

He wiped his tears with his rough hands and forced a smile at me. But I knew it was fake. His lips curved upward, but his eyes stayed heavy with sorrow.

“I prepared your lunch, sweetie,” he said in a shaky voice. “Zonen’s already eating… he seemed so hungry.”

He let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the heavy air around us. My chest squeezed painfully, but I joined his act.

“He’s always hungry,” I chuckled, though my voice cracked.

We walked to the kitchen together.

Father never fought back, not even once. Not against the people who bullied me, bullied my brother, bullied him. Even though I knew he was strong—strong enough to fight them all if he wanted—he chose silence. He was afraid. Afraid that if he ever raised his hand, even in defense, the Mayor would throw us out of the community. And being thrown out was the worst punishment anyone could face. Outside the tall wooden walls of our community lived wild creatures, twisted monsters, and things no one had names for. The patrols at night were strict for a reason.

When we reached the dining table, I saw my little brother, Zonen, eating hungrily. Fried rabbit meat. The smell filled the room, warm and earthy.

“You caught something good today, Dad,” I said, smiling at him.

“Of course. As always.” He winked at me.

I laughed softly and sat down beside my brother. “How are you, Blubby?” I teased.

At ten, Zonen was still round-cheeked and chubby, and I couldn’t resist calling him that. I was twelve, but in truth, I felt much older. Life had forced me to grow up too fast.

“Stop calling me Blubby! I’m a man now, Maive. Call me by my name,” he said, puffing out his chest as if he was already an adult.

His little act made me and Dad laugh.

“Oh, Blubby. You’re daydreaming again,” I teased, ruffling his messy hair.

“Aish!” He scoffed, pushing my hand away, his mouth already stuffed with rabbit meat.

For a moment, the room filled with laughter, and it almost felt normal. Almost.

But deep down, I knew—it was only a fragile mask. Despite everything, we forced ourselves to smile, to laugh, to pretend. Because if we didn’t, we would drown in misery.

I am Maiveline Underwood. People call me Maive. I am the daughter of Christopher Underwood, a man the whole town whispers about. They say he’s dangerous. They say he’s cursed. But I know him—he’s not. He’s just a father who loves his children. People also say my mother, Velaia, was a witch. I refuse to believe them. To me, she was just Mom. The one who should have been here. The one we desperately needed.

We rarely went out unless we had to—unless we needed food, or when Dad went out to hunt. Sometimes he found work as a laborer, but most people didn’t hire him unless the task was too difficult for anyone else. They didn’t want him around. They didn’t trust him. And I pitied him for it, because I saw how hard he tried for us.

That night, I didn’t want to sleep alone. My chest still hurt from holding back tears earlier, and I just wanted to be close to Dad. I walked quietly to his room, but when I reached his door, I froze.

I heard him. Crying.

“Velaia… I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect our children well. I’m sorry…”

His voice was broken. My heart cracked with it. He was talking to himself—or maybe to Mom, like he always did when he thought no one was listening. He poured out all the pain he hid from us, all the guilt that was eating him alive.

Tears blurred my vision. I wanted to barge in and hug him, but my feet wouldn’t move.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw Zonen. He looked at me with those soft, worried eyes, as if he was the older one trying to comfort me. I bit my lip and nodded at him, though it didn’t ease the lump in my throat.

“Come in,” Dad’s voice suddenly called.

My eyes widened. How did he know we were there?

I slowly opened the door, and we walked inside. Dad sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes swollen but his lips curved into another forced smile.

“Dad, can we sleep here tonight?” I asked, trying my best to sound cheerful. I even made my eyes big and pleading like a puppy.

He chuckled and patted the bed. “Of course. Come here, sweetie. Zonen, you too.”

Zonen ran and jumped onto the bed, landing on Dad’s left side. I climbed up on the right, pressing against him. For a while, there was silence. Just the sound of our breathing. I didn’t like silence—it always carried too much sadness.

“Dad, can you tell us about Mom?” I whispered.

He grew quiet. His eyes softened, as if he was seeing her in his mind.

“Your mother… she was the most beautiful woman I ever met. Not just outside, but inside too.” His voice carried love, longing, and grief all at once.

“But why did she leave us? Why did she go away?” Zonen asked softly.

Dad sighed and stroked his hair. “She didn’t want to leave, son. She sacrificed everything for us. She’s our guardian angel.”

I swallowed hard. “Dad… do you think Mom is still alive?”

He hesitated. His jaw clenched, but then he shook his head slowly. “I can still feel her, Maive. Deep in here.” He placed a hand over his heart. “Your mom loves you both so much. Always remember that.”

“Dad… is Mom really a witch?” Zonen suddenly asked.

My body tensed. “Zonen!” I hissed, glaring at him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “People keep saying it. I just wanted to know.”

Dad’s expression softened, though pain flickered in his eyes. “Don’t listen to what people say. Your mom will always be our angel. One day, you’ll understand. But for now… just sleep.”

We whispered our goodnights, exchanged kisses, and I drifted into uneasy sleep.

The next morning, I woke up to find Dad gone. The bed was cold where he had been. He was probably out hunting again, working hard to fill our stomachs.

I decided to go look for Sheon—my bird, my protector. She was larger than most birds, even though still young. Stronger too. She often left me to fend off dangers herself, but she always came back. She always found me.

As I walked down the dirt path, the morning sun dimly lit the horizon, but my chest felt heavy. My heart told me something was wrong.

Then I saw it.

A group of villagers gathered in the distance, all staring at the same spot in the fields. Their voices were low, tense, filled with fear and curiosity.

What was happening?

I took a step forward, curiosity pulling me closer—

But before I could take another, a rough hand grabbed my arm from behind. Another hand clamped tightly over my mouth, cutting off my scream.

My heart jolted violently. Panic shot through me.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.