A year has passed since Chris's birthday, and now, I'm nine years old. Ti seems to stretch endlessly, especially when you're waiting for sothing important.
Just recently, we received a letter from Father. My heart leaped with excitent when I saw his handwriting, but that excitent quickly faded as I read the contents. He won't be able to return ho just yet. There's so urgent business in the capital that could keep him away for another three to four months.
As I reread the letter, trying to draw so comfort from his words, a heavy sense of disappointnt settled over . This delay also ant that my magic lessons would be put on hold for much longer.
Father is the only one who can guide properly, especially now that I've learned the basics and am ready to move on to more advanced techniques. But I quickly pushed those feelings aside, rembering that Aunt Lyshia and Chris were supposed to visit today. I decided to focus on their visit instead and not let the news ruin my day.
Morning turned into afternoon, and then lunch ca and went. But there was still no sign of them. I tried to busy myself with various activities, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Chris and Aunt Lyshia. Why hadn't they shown up? They were never this late. I couldn't shake the feeling that sothing was wrong.
"Maybe sothing ca up, and they're just busy. I'm sure they'll visit tomorrow," my mother said, trying to reassure as she noticed my anxious pacing.
"Yeah, maybe you're right," I replied, though the knot in my stomach told otherwise.
The next day ca, but there was still no sign of them. As the hours dragged on, my worry deepened. By now, I was certain sothing wasn't right.
My mother and I decided that we would visit them ourselves the following day. Perhaps seeing them in person would ease my worries.
The morning of our visit arrived, and we set out early. The sky was a clear, pale blue, with only a few clouds drifting lazily overhead, but the cheerful weather did nothing to lift the growing unease within .
As we walked the familiar path to Chris's house, I found myself ntally preparing for the worst, though I couldn't quite imagine what that could be.
When we finally arrived, my mother knocked on the door. For what felt like an eternity, there was no response. My heart pounded in my chest as the seconds stretched on. Just as I was about to suggest that we try again, I heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from the other side.
The door creaked open to reveal Chris. Her face lit up with surprise, but there was sothing off about her expression. It was as if she was trying to mask a deeper emotion, one that didn't belong on the face of soone so cheerful.
Her arms were folded behind her back, and her smile seed forced. I noticed sothing else too—her arms. She had bruises, faint but noticeable, running along her forearms. She quickly shifted her position, trying to hide them from view, but it was too late. I had seen them, and I was certain my mother had as well.
Before I could say anything, Aunt Lyshia appeared behind Chris. She seed just as surprised as Chris to see us standing at their door.
"Chris, what's taking you so long?" she asked, her voice slightly strained. Then, seeing us, she forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"W-what brings you here so unexpectedly?" she asked, her tone awkward, as if caught off guard.
"We were worried," my mother replied, her voice calm but tinged with concern. "You didn't visit the other day, or yesterday. We just wanted to make sure everything was alright."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Aunt Lyshia quickly responded, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "We've been busy with... with so things around the house. That's why we haven't had the ti to co over."
"It's no trouble," my mother said kindly. "We just wanted to check on you. It's unusual for you not to visit, and we were concerned sothing might have happened."
Aunt Lyshia nodded, her smile still firmly in place, though there was a flicker of sothing in her eyes—fear, perhaps? "Oh, has Philip returned?" my mother asked, her tone casual, as if making small talk. "William ntioned in his letter that he had sothing to attend to in the capital and that it might take a few months."
Aunt Lyshia's smile faltered for a split second before she caught herself. "Ah, yes. He's... he's still away, but we'll try to visit next week," she said, her voice slightly hurried, as if eager to change the subject.
"Alright then, we'll see you next week," my mother replied, her tone gentle yet probing.
As Aunt Lyshia closed the door, I couldn't help but notice the bruises on her arms as well. Unlike Chris, she hadn't tried to hide them, but they were still subtle enough to be overlooked if you weren't paying attention.
On the walk back ho, neither my mother nor I spoke much. I was lost in thought, replaying the conversation in my head and piecing together the details. The bruises, their reluctance to let us in, Aunt Lyshia's evasion when asked about Uncle Philip—everything felt wrong. I knew there was more to this than they were letting on, and I was determined to find out what.
Once we were ho, I went straight to my room. I sat on my bed, deep in thought. The more I considered what I'd seen and heard, the more certain I beca that sothing was terribly wrong. Those bruises couldn't have been accidents; there were too many, and they were too similar. And why had they kept us outside instead of inviting us in, like they always did? What were they hiding? And why had Aunt Lyshia avoided my mother's question about Uncle Philip?
I couldn't just sit by and do nothing. I needed to figure out what was going on, even if it ant going against what everyone else thought was best. I owed it to Chris and Aunt Lyshia. They were like family to , and I couldn't stand the thought of them being in trouble.
***
A week passed, and I still hadn't uncovered any answers. My thoughts were constantly occupied with worry, and it was becoming harder to focus on anything else.
The day that Aunt Lyshia had promised they would visit finally arrived, but once again, there was no sign of them. By noon, I couldn't sit still any longer. I got up from my seat, my mind made up. I needed to go to their house and see for myself what was happening.
As I headed for the door, my mother's voice stopped in my tracks.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her tone firm, carrying the authority of the sword saint she was known to be.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm going to Chris's house," I replied, a hint of frustration creeping into my voice. Why couldn't she understand? Didn't she care about them as much as I did?
"You must not go," she said, her voice brooking no argunt.
"Why?" I demanded, anger flaring in my chest. "Do you not care about them? How can you just sit here and do nothing?"
My mother's expression softened slightly, but her eyes remained stern. "They didn't tell us what's going on because they don't want us involved. If you go there, do you think you'll be able to help, or will you only make things worse for them?"
Her words stung, but there was truth in them. I hadn't considered the possibility that my interference might be unwelco or even harmful. But still, I couldn't just turn a blind eye.
"But I can't just overlook it," I said, my voice wavering as I struggled to hold back the frustration and fear that had been building up all week.
"If you go," she continued, "you're doing it on your own. I won't stop you, but I won't help you either. This is your choice, and whatever consequences co from it, you'll have to face them alone."
I stared at her, trying to find any trace of doubt or hesitation in her eyes, but there was none. She ant every word. I knew she was right, that this was a risk I was taking alone, but I also knew that I had to take it. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least try to help them.
"Yeah, I know," I said, my voice steady now as I turned and walked out the door, determination solidifying within .
As I made my way to Chris's house, the sun was already beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the path. The cheerful colors of the day had dulled, giving way to the eerie stillness of the evening. Every step I took felt heavier than the last, but I didn't waver. Whatever awaited at Chris's house, I was ready to face it.
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