My Boyfriend Ron

Part 5

The police investigation revealed that Lisa had been battling a serious mental condition, which had gone unnoticed by most. This discovery led the authorities to summon both Kooni and his father, Joseph, to the station multiple times for questioning. Despite the intense scrutiny, Lisa's death was eventually declared an accident. The narrative pieced together by the police suggested that Joseph, at one point, had administered insulin to Lisa, as prescribed. However, her deteriorating mental state led her to inject herself again, either forgetting she had already taken the dose or being driven by the chaos in her mind.

Joseph, who had been out at a grocery store during the time of her death, had a solid alibi. CCTV footage corroborated his story, affirming his innocence. Kooni, too, was with her friends, far from the scene. The case was closed, the official report listing Lisa's death as a tragic accident caused by a double dose of insulin.

But deep down, both Kooni and Joseph knew the truth was far more complex and haunting.

Kooni's mind kept replaying the events of that day, a gnawing doubt creeping into her thoughts. What if, before heading out with George and Adam, she had inadvertently given her mother the insulin shot? She tried to convince herself otherwise, reasoning that she had administered it in broad daylight and couldn't have possibly delivered a lethal dose. Yet, the thought lingered, festering in her mind, tormenting her with the possibility that her actions, however unintended, might have contributed to her mother's death.

Joseph, on the other hand, was burdened with a much darker secret. He knew precisely what had happened. He had given Lisa the insulin shot, but in his haste, he had carelessly left the insulin pen on the kitchen table instead of returning it to the fridge. The last time he saw Lisa alive, she was near the sofa, just a few feet away from the kitchen. The sight haunted him- Lisa, fragile and confused, possibly stumbling into the kitchen, spotting the insulin pen, and in her disoriented state, injecting herself once more. Joseph couldn't shake the guilt, knowing that his negligence had placed the instrument of her death within reach.

The truth, buried under layers of doubt and guilt, was something neither father nor daughter could speak of aloud. The official narrative provided them a way out, a story they could tell themselves to sleep at night. But in the silence of their own minds, they were haunted by what they knew, or what they feared they knew. The tragedy of Lisa's death was not just in its occurrence, but in the shadows it cast over those she left behind, shadows that whispered of a reality too painful to fully accept.

During the police investigation, Kooni's mother’s funeral took place. It was a somber affair, attended only by a few close friends, some relatives, and a handful of neighbors. George stayed by Kooni's side throughout the ordeal, his presence unwavering. He accompanied Connie and his father to the police station multiple times, their faces etched with the weight of grief and the dark cloud of suspicion hanging over them. Each visit to the station felt like a step deeper into a nightmare, as the investigation loomed over the already shattered family.

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Kooni and I grew up in the same neighborhood. George, Albert, and Adam lived a little further away, in what you might call the wealthier part of town, while our area was more middle-class. Kooni had already finished school, and this was my final year. We were the same age, but I had lost a year. My father had beaten me so severely that I ended up with a serious leg injury. That injury became the breaking point for my parents' marriage, leading to their divorce. The court granted custody to my mother, which, truth be told, is what I had secretly wanted.

When my father left, my mother had to take charge of the household. She handled everything with remarkable strength and found a good job that suited her skills. Every morning, she would leave the house in a sharp suit and skirt, ready to tackle the day, while I would sit by the window, watching her until she disappeared from sight. This had become our routine, a rhythm we fell into, even now that I’m seventeen.