blood behind closed doors 🚪

1 - the illusion of innocence 😇

سبحان الله و بحمده .
سبحان الله العظيم .
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The soft glow of candlelight cast a warm, inviting ambiance over the dinner table. The aroma of roasted chicken filled the air, mingling with the subtle scent of freshly baked bread. It was a typical Sunday evening, a time for family, for sharing stories, and for simply being together.
"How was your day, honey?" Mrs. Knight asked her husband, Mr. Knight, a distinguished lawyer with a sharp mind and a kind heart.
"Well, quite busy," Mr. Knight replied, a slight smile playing on his lips. "We've been hard at work on that new legal textbook with David. It's quite a project."
Mrs. Knight nodded, her eyes shifting to her children. "And you, Sarah? How was school?"
Sarah, a bright-eyed teenager, shrugged. "Same old, same old. Just a bunch of homework and tests." She paused, her gaze turning towards her younger brother, Daniel. "But Dani, on the other hand, hasn't had the best of days."
Daniel, a timid boy with a gentle nature, sat hunched over his plate, his fork untouched. His eyes, filled with a mixture of sadness and fear, were fixed on the table.
"Simon bullied him again," Sarah explained, her voice laced with concern.
Mr. Knight's brow furrowed as he turned to his son. "Daniel, my boy, what happened?"
Daniel hesitated, his voice barely audible. "He... he called me names and pushed me. He's so much taller than me."
Mr. Knight offered a comforting smile. "Remember, Daniel, words can hurt, but they can't break you. And as for physical bullying, it's important to stand up for yourself, but always be mindful of your safety. Perhaps you could try talking to a teacher or a counselor about it."
Before Daniel could respond, the doorbell rang, an unexpected interruption to the peaceful evening. It was late, nearly ten o'clock.
"Who could that be at this hour?" Mrs. Knight asked, her voice filled with curiosity.
Mr. Knight rose from his seat, a puzzled expression on his face. "I have no idea. I wasn't expecting anyone."
Mr. Knight opened the door, startled to find an elderly woman waiting on the porch.
The women's face was flushed, her breathing labored, and beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. She fumbled for a white handkerchief, embroidered with a dark blue "C" to wipe her brow.
"Mrs. Knight, please," the women stammered, her voice trembling. "I need your help. Please, I beg you. I don't want to go to jail."
Intrigue and concern washed over Mr. Knight. He stepped aside, inviting the women into the house. As the elderly women entered, Mr. Knight closed the door behind her, a sense of unease settling over her.
"Please, sit down," Mr. Knight offered, gesturing towards a nearby chair. "Can you tell me what's going on?"
The women sank into the chair, her body shaking. "It's a long story, and it's a terrible one," she began, her voice barely a whisper.
Mrs. Knight, sensing the tension, gently urged her children to go upstairs. "Why don't you two head to bed? It's late."
Once they were gone, she turned her attention back to the elderly women. "Would you like some water?" she offered, pouring a glass from the kitchen.
The women nodded gratefully, taking the glass and sipping slowly. "Thank you," she murmured.
Mrs. Knight after handing the man the glass of water "I'll leave you two to talk " she said, then went upstairs with the children. She never approved of her husband bringing work home. It was stressful for him, and she thought he spent too much time away from his family already. She always encouraged him to rest at home , but she didn't want to create a scene in front of the mysterious visitor so she just left quietly.
Mr. Knight turned to the women. "Now, please calm down and tell me exactly what's happened. Why are you here at this late hour? And how did you get my address?"
The women took a deep breath, her voice still shaky. "I'm in trouble, serious trouble. I committed a crime, and I'm going to confess to the police. But the truth is, I'm innocent. I need your help."
That lawyer was choked about what he just heard and asked what did u do ?
She answered : " I killed my husband , but believe me I'm innocent " .
"You... you killed your husband?" Mr. Knight stammered, his shock palpable. "But you say you're innocent?"
The women nodded, her eyes filled with despair. 'Yes, I did kill him, but I didn't mean to. It was an accident, a terrible accident. But the police won't believe me. " They'll think I did it on purpose. That's why I need your help.'"
Mr. Knight leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."
The women hesitated, then began to recount her tale, her voice filled with anguish and confusion.
"To understand the end, you must first understand the beginning," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
"My name is Camellia , a name as ordinary as the life I once led. Growing up in a small, forgotten town, I was raised in a family that struggled to make ends meet. With two sisters and three brothers My mother struggled to provide for us all , she was a hardworking woman, toiled endlessly as a maid, while my father, a shadow of a man, was often absent he was lost in the haze of alcoholism until the day he died from liver cancer .
As the eldest daughter, I shouldered the burden of providing for my family. I worked tirelessly, from dawn till dusk, taking on any job that came my way. I was a farmer, a mechanic, a delivery girl, and a car washer. Yet, despite my efforts and without an proper education I remained trapped in a cycle of low-paying jobs Wich means poverty.
One fateful day, a sleek, silver sports car pulled into the gas station where I worked. The driver, a man of wealth and privilege, exuded an air of arrogance and disdain. He dismissed my offer to wash his car with a condescending sneer. "Country bumpkins like you will never amount to anything," he scoffed. His words, sharp and cutting, stung. But it wasn't just his words that struck a chord.
"The woman beside him, with a knowing glance and a soft rebuke, seemed to understand the impact of his cruelty. 'Jay, don't be such a jerk,' she chided. ' She's just a kid. she still has time to change her life.' She paused, her eyes meeting mine. 'Not all of us are born into privilege. Some of us start from scratch, while others start below sea level. It's not fair, but it's life. You never know what you might become. You could be the next big thing, or you could just fade into obscurity. It's up to you to decide your own destiny .'
That night, I couldn't sleep. The man's words echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of my limited prospects. Yet, in the darkness, a seed of rebellion was planted. I yearned for more than a life of toil and hardship. I longed to break free from the chains of poverty and embrace a future filled with endless possibilities.
As I lay awake, I thought about the countless stories I had heard about people who had overcome adversity. They had dared to dream, to defy expectations, and to forge their own destinies. I realized that I could be one of them. I could escape the confines of my small town and build a better life for myself and my family.
With renewed determination, I packed my meager belongings-a single pair of worn jeans, a faded t-shirt, and a worn-out jacket-and boarded a train to the city. It was a leap of faith, a desperate gamble, but it was the only way to break free from the chains of my past and forge a new future .
The train journey was long and arduous. As the train rattled and swayed, I gazed out the window at the passing landscape. The fields stretched out for miles, a monotonous expanse of green. I wondered if I would ever return to this place, to this simple, unassuming life.
When I finally arrived in the city, I was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds. The towering skyscrapers, the bustling streets, the endless stream of people-it was all so different from the quiet, sleepy town I had left behind. I felt small and insignificant, a mere speck in the vast urban landscape.
Finding work was a challenge. I applied for countless jobs, but was repeatedly rejected. I was underqualified, inexperienced, and, worst of all, a country girl. But I was determined. I wouldn't let setbacks discourage me. I took any job I could find, no matter how menial. I worked as a dishwasher, a waiters, and a delivery girl.
As time passed, I began to adapt to my new life. I learned to navigate the city's complex social hierarchy, to blend in with the crowd. I also began to educate myself, reading books and taking night classes. I was determined to improve myself, to become someone more than I had ever imagined.
The harsh reality of poverty was laid bare before me one day while working at the market. As I was tasked with disposing of expired groceries, I stumbled upon a woman, weathered by the streets, rummaging through the trash. Her eyes, filled with a mix of desperation and shame, met mine. She tried to retreat, but I stopped her.
"Here, take these," I offered, handing her a bag of slightly expired produce. "They're not the freshest, but they're better than what you found in the trash." Her gratitude was palpable, her acceptance of the meager offering a stark reminder of the harsh conditions she endured.
Her situation mirrored my own humble beginnings. I, too, had once been a poor girl with dreams, struggling to escape the clutches of poverty. The sight of this woman, her resilience in the face of adversity, ignited a fire within me. It was a stark reminder of why I had left my hometown, a harsh wake-up call to stay focused on my goals.
I vowed to work harder, to strive for a better future, not just for myself, but for those who were less fortunate. Her presence, a fleeting moment in time, had left an indelible mark on my soul.
As the day drew to a close, Camellia found herself in a conversation with a fellow employee. She poured out her heart, confessing her dissatisfaction with the current situation. The meager wages she earned were barely enough to make ends meet, let alone provide for a future. Her friend, Asher, sensed both of her fear and frustration so he offered a glimmer of hope to her.
"I saw an article about an elderly man who's looking for a young person to hire. He's offering a job in his library, and while the pay isn't great but still not that bad, on top of that he does provide food and a place to stay. That way, you could save some money," her friend said. "He's a good man, I'm sure. If you told him about your situation, he'd probably be willing to help. I'd do it myself, but I hate dealing with... old people," her friend joked, a mischievous glint in his eye. They shared a laugh, the tension of the earlier conversation dissipating. Camellia couldn't help but smile. Her friend, a self-proclaimed rule-breaker, was always full of surprises.
Camellia's eyes lit up. It felt as if fate had intervened, offering her a lifeline. Just when she thought she'd hit rock bottom, another opportunity presented itself.
After her shift, Camellia followed the directions her friend had written down. The shop was a quaint little place, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. As she stepped inside, she was greeted by...
a warm, inviting atmosphere. The elderly man, with his kind eyes and gentle smile, seemed to exude wisdom and experience .

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To be continued ...

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السلام عليكم و رحمة الله و بركاته

كيف حالكم اعزائي اتمنى أن تكونوا بألف خير و صحة يارب .

كبداية أرغب بحمد الله و شكره شكرا كثيرا فلولا توفيقه لي ما بدأت الكتابة و قد قدر لي بالإضافة على ذلك أن تمطر عليا السماء بوابل من التشجيعات من قبل اصدقائي و لو أن صديقتي فاطيمة تأخد النصيب الأكبر منها .

بعد هذا الإهداء القصير ندخل في المهم الا و هو الفصل الاول من الرواية الذي يعرفنا بمجرياتها و شخصياتها و أجوائها ، رأيكم فيه ؟ و في الأحداث ؟ كاميليا و مزاعمها هل هي حقيقة أم كذبة لتضليل العدالة ؟

توقعاتكم للفصل القادم و هل يا ترى يوظفها صاحب المكتبة أم لا ؟ و أي دور سيلعبه في حياتها ؟

هل أحببتم الرواية باللغة الانجليزية ام تريدون أن أنشر النسخة العربية شاركوني ارائكم بالتعليقات تحت .

في الاخير أترككم مع فصل جديد قادم عن قريب بإذن الله ، دمتم في أمان الله و حفظ .
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و السلام عليكم مرة أخرى 🌿