Novel & Cerita How Old Was Sanemi When He Killed His Mom

My mother, Helen, came in as a crisis counselor when the gunmen started spiraling. I still remembered the gunshot meant for me. My mother taking it instead. My father's team storming the store. One robber dead, one captured, and then my father killed in the chase by an accomplice hiding outside. My mother died before the ambulance reached the hospital. My father bled out in the street. After that, Serena looked at me differently. She never said it was my fault, but she never had to. I could feel it every time she looked at me. A few weeks later, she threw me out.

So they buried the corpse honorably in an adjoining temple, and wrote to Sanza's wife and son, describing to them the manner of his death. Now when Sanza's wife, who had long been anxiously expecting her husband's return, opened the letter and learned the cruel circumstances of his death, she and her son Kosanza mourned bitterly over his loss. Then Kosanza, who was now fourteen years old, said to his mother- “Take comfort, mother; for I will go to Gim and seek out this Banzayémon, my father's murderer, and I will surely avenge his death. Now, therefore, make ready all that I need for this journey.”

He found me in the mapping office on a Thursday morning and stood in the doorway with the expression I had come to recognize as the one that preceded something real. "She knew my mother," he said. "Her name was Seren, and she was—according to Vera—determined and impossible and remarkable. She died the day I was born from a hemorrhage the pack's healer couldn't stop. She was twenty-three." He paused. "The same age as your mother when she left." "Twenty-three seems to have been a significant year for the women in our families," I said.

Samantha was going to kill them, she was going to kill the mayor first and then kill her. "Sa... Samantha!" She gasped, breathing heavily. "You... you are not a murderer... you can't‐" she was cut short Samantha's menacing laughter. She tried to get up, but only landed on the cold floor. "Sweetheart, I killed my own birth mother in cold blood. All this, this is nothing. And besides, who said I am going to kill anyone? No, I'm not going to kill him, you are."

If it hadn't been for his lack of trust, if he had just listened to me for one second, I would have had a chance to save my mother. "I killed her," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I killed an innocent woman because I was too proud to believe my own mate." Owen collapsed into a chair, his young mind struggling to process the magnitude of their betrayal. "I threw the torch, Dad. I actually threw the torch that killed Grandma." "She begged us to stop, and we wouldn't listen." "We chose to believe a stranger over Mom." Even at the healing center, if they had arranged for healers instead of sending them all to treat Sera's fake fainting spell, my mother could have been saved.

My husband's childhood friend, Sarah, killed my parents, and my husband, Nom, covered it up, choosing to shield her instead. I was left with no choice but to break our Mate Bond and avenge my parents. "Nom, we found Sarah's fingerprints all over the murder scene. We've got solid proof. If we corner Jem with this, he'd back down from the fight to become the next Alpha, no question. Why are we even looking for another angle?" The beta's voice carried through the quiet study, his body wedged behind the slim door, effectively hiding the man at his desk.

Enzo studied him, trying to think of something to say. "As you were adding the purgative to the food after entering the house, Kamara's mother showed up. You shifted and killed her. Because of your incredible power, you tore her to pieces before moving on to Kamara's father and did the same to him." Caiden was confused by what Enzo said. He saud, "I was only fourteen," in a whisper. He said, "I'm sorry, Caiden," but there was contempt on his face and he showed no emotion. "But that's exactly how it happened," he said.

He simply looked at Salem, who cried so hard that he almost collapsed. Salem was almost 70 years old, and he was greying at the temples. Yet, he lost his son in his old age, which was indeed a tragedy in his life. He cried so sorrowfully that his hair seemed to have grayed a little. He beat the young man, looking as if he was hanging from the latter's body. "Give my son and daughter back to me, you bunch of murderers!" He even raised his hand and slapped the young man in a fit of grief.

It was the kind of charge that opened a tribunal, that stripped a man of power, that could even cost him his life. The man who'd had a gun on him a moment ago suddenly gave a cold laugh. "He had a gun on me just now, and I actually thought he loved his wife." "And it turns out the one who got her mother killed was him, wasn't it?" "Pathetic, really." It wasn't long before someone else picked it up. "I wondered about it at the time too." "If the Don loved his wife so much, why didn't he wipe out the Ashfords after the wedding?"

He didn’t pull away this time, and that felt like a small victory. “You were just a kid yourself,” I said. “That’s a lot for anyone to handle, let alone a thirteen-year-old.” He let out a bitter laugh, his lips twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? And then…” He paused, his face tightening. “And then?” I prompted, keeping my voice steady even though I could feel the weight of whatever he was about to say. He closed his eyes for a moment like he was trying to steady himself. “And then my mom died. She worked herself to death, trying to give us a life she thought we deserved. I was nineteen. My sister was five.”