No More Blues [FreenBecky]

Chapter 3: Memories

Freen's POV

As I stepped through our gate, a bittersweet smile tugged at my lips. Home was within reach once more, but some bad memories were here.

I walked towards our house's door slowly, but with each step, a sense of unease feelings settled within me.

Each step toward the familiar door felt heavier, a weight settling in my chest, reminding me of the nine long years that had passed since we leave this place. Memories flooded my mind, mingling with the present scene of our house, unchanged yet somehow different with my Tita Susan now residing within its walls.

"Freen, you're here!" Tita greeted me with a hug. "You're just as beautiful as always," she added, her eyes filled with warmth.

"You always say the sweetest things, Tita. How have you been?" I asked, returning the sentiment.

"I'm alright, Freen, but let's catch up later after I've finished preparing dinner," she eagerly suggested. And excused herself.

I looked around while placing my belongings on the living room table, I glanced towards my room's door, feeling a sense of nostalgia wash over me. I can see my younger self peeking at the door.

~~flashback~~

The sound of Mama and Papa's argument woke me from my sleep. Their voices filled with tension.

I cracked my bedroom door open, peeking outside.

The sight that greeted me was like a scene from a nightmare.

Papa stood there, his shirt stained with blood, drenched from the rain.

"Marlyn, pack our things, we need to leave now! Wake Freen!" Papa's urgent tone cut through the air.

"Fred, what happened to you? Why are you covered in blood?" Mama's voice trembled with concern as she questioned Papa, her eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.

"What's going on, Fred? Speak up!" Mama urged, her worry evident.

"Marlyn, I... I hit someone!" Papa confessed, his voice quivering with emotion.

"But when I approached her... I didn't realize it was Mrs. Armstrong. She still had a pulse. I lifted her and placed her in the roadside... then I fled. I'm afraid Marlyn! I don't want to go to prison," Papa admitted, his guilt evident, fear etched on his face.

"Fred, what have you done?!" Mama slapped him, jolted Papa back to reality. She sank onto the sofa, overcome with emotion.

"Marlyn, we need to leave... Do you understand? I can't afford to go to jail...what about Freen's education? What about your illness? The doctor said you only have... a few months or years left... Please, Marlyn... we need to get away," Papa pleaded with Mama, his desperation palpable.

Mama sat there silently, tears streaming down her face.

I couldn't comprehend what I had just heard and learned.

Papa had hit someone?
Mama was sick and she has a few months or years left?

In that moment, the innocence of my childhood slipped away, replaced by a harsh reality that threatened to consume me.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized, even at a young age, I now understood everything. Why did Papa want to leave and escape his guilt.

It's like a blow to my chest, because it was all wrong.

It was my best friend's mother.
I don't know what to think, but there's one thing I can do right now: inform an ambulance. I immediately dialed the emergency number and reported that someone had been hit and was lying on the roadside.