Cнα⅊тɛʀ 33

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Nora's P

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Nora's P.O.V

 
Only Mom could tell me who tried to hurt her—but she wasn’t waking up. 

And if it wasn’t Arthur, then who? 

I didn’t trust him, but the CCTV footage proved he was in surgery during the attack. I had no solid reason to accuse him, no evidence that he was involved. And yet… something felt off. Could he really be innocent? He loved Mom, didn’t he? Or was I missing something bigger? 

I couldn’t waste time overthinking. I needed answers. 

Leaving the hospital, I made my way home. The moment I stepped inside, I shut the door and let out a shaky breath. The silence was suffocating. My eyes landed on the couch, and there it was—Mom’s jacket, carelessly draped over the armrest, as if she had just left a moment ago.  

A lump formed in my throat. Before I could stop myself, I grabbed it, pulling it close to my chest. The familiar scent of her perfume still clung to the fabric. It was ridiculous, hugging a piece of clothing like it could bring her back. But I was unraveling, and for those few seconds, I let myself break. 

Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless. 

I bit down on my lip, forcing myself to get a grip. Crying wouldn’t help. It never did.  

I wiped my face and headed to the bathroom. Splashing cold water onto my skin, I took deep breaths, watching my own reflection—red eyes, tense shoulders, the weight of the last few days written all over me. Tying my hair into a ponytail, I made a silent promise.  

I would find whoever did this. 

The police weren’t going to help. I didn’t trust them anymore. Not after what they did—no, after what they didn’t do. When we begged them to protect us from my father’s abuse, they looked the other way. Made it seem like we were the problem while he walked free. 

They were scared. 

Because my father was connected to El Cráneo de Sangre.

A name that once made my blood run cold. A gang notorious for brutal executions, for making people disappear if they crossed the line. And my father? He was one of their most trusted men. Even the police backed off when he was involved. That’s the kind of power he had. 

I didn’t even know if he was still part of them. 

Wait. My father…?

A sickening thought clawed its way into my mind. Could he have tried to kill Mom?

No. That didn’t make sense. He had no reason to—unless… I’m missing something.

A part of me refused to believe it. Another part of me was terrified that I might be right. 

I shoved the thought away and focused on what I could do—search for clues. 

I went into Mom’s room. If she knew something, if she had even the slightest hint of danger, she would have hidden it here. Her room was always spotless, thanks to her OCD. Everything had its place. Unlike mine, her nightstand was clear except for a neat row of medicine bottles. She had so many health issues, yet she never let me see how much pain she was in. 

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