Isn't Joseph dead?... Why do mysteries keep piling up the more I try to understand the truth?
"As far as I know, he's dead?"
"I don't think his grave is in the palace cemetery. We asked them during our investigation, but they confirmed that his grave is not inside the palace and that it is in another cemetery in the city...so he's not dead...he's among us...If he were dead, his grave would be among them; he is an important figure whom they would not place in a public cemetery." A serious look appeared in his eyes.
"And as long as he's here, your death is certain."
He got up from his seat, put his file in his bag, and then patted me gently on the shoulder.
"Don't worry... I'll figure this out."
Those were his last words before he walked away.
Oh, what a pity... what kind of misfortune has my mother put us in?
As the investigator spoke, his words struck me like arrows in my chest and then dissipated, like a horror story I was listening to as a mere listener, not a victim. I didn't grasp the gravity of the situation as a matter of life or death; I simply understood it as a matter of inevitable death.
I remember that first call from my mother after six months of silence. She told me about her marriage in a tone brimming with joy, and how I responded with blame and rebuke, not as a daughter advising her mother, but as a mother rebuking her daughter. The last thing I said to her was, "It's a marriage that will ruin your life," before I hung up on her.
I wish she had heeded my warning then.
I know nothing about Page; I haven't even exchanged a single word with him that entire week. His smile, which I saw in our first meeting, and whose sincerity I doubted, was spot on. Although he seems deeply in love with my mother and sincere in his emotions, that doesn't mean he won't be the cause of her death.
Hope still breathes within me. I'm not afraid of death as much as I'm afraid of how I'll face it. It's like a doctor telling you you have cancer and setting a deadline for death without specifying a day, leaving you in a state of uncertainty: Will you indulge in life's pleasures to face death in peace, or will you wait in silence, cup after cup of coffee, until your time comes?
What really worries me is the choice I'll make. Will I wait in my room for my inevitable fate, indeed the fate of all of us? Or will I rush headlong into searching for Joseph?
When we mention Joseph, we mention the past. And when we mention the past, we inevitably talk about breaking the rules. I will break every rule in this palace, even if the price is just one piece of information, even if this adventure is the last thing I do in my life.
I decided to help the detective, to protect my mother. She was the one who caused our predicament without realizing it, but I'm the one who knows the truth, and she doesn't know it, and that's a responsibility that can't be postponed.
Finally, I returned to the palace and grabbed my phone to check my features. I wasn't crying, but my eyes were red from intense thought and fear. Not hot tears, but a chill that penetrated the depths, leaving my eyes reddened like a frozen lake of tears.
I entered through the back door of the palace, where the path first led through the garden. As I passed the roses, whose cold winter had preceded me, I spotted my mother sitting in a black silk nightgown, holding a coffee cup dripping with raindrops. She was lost in thought, looking at the most magnificent collection of roses in the garden, brimming with vibrant colors.
I sensed a deep absentmindedness and sadness in her gaze. Her wet hair and frozen posture were all signs of a poor psychological state. My mother usually tended to exaggerate the dramatic, searching for reasons to cry since she was a child, but this time the sadness was real, as if something fundamental was hurting her.
This was exactly what I expected. After what the detective had revealed to me, it was inevitable that her life would begin to spiral into misery.
I approached her gently, trying to understand what was going on inside her. I snatched the coffee cup from her trembling fingers, the cup filled with rainwater, and silently placed it on the ground. My movements were deliberate, so as not to interrupt her flowing thoughts.
But she spoke before I could: "Did you know that he always gave me bouquets of these roses... on every date before we got married?"
The flowers staring at her looked like a masterpiece in a gallery, their beauty captivating and breathtaking.
"It wasn't expensive for him... What's sad, Mom? Are you okay? This rain will make you sick, we need to go inside."
I gently grabbed her arm, trying to lead her inside, but she pushed me away violently.
"Leave me...!"
Her reaction didn't surprise me; I'd grown accustomed to her erratic behavior since our old days, when she'd come home drunk and I'd have to endure her insults.
"Okay... tell me what's wrong? Is Tige the reason?"
That's what I expected, and it proved to be the case.
She finally looked at me and said, "How did you know?"
"I don't see you close to anyone in this house except him... even me, your daughter, you didn't give me a chance to have our usual argument... so clearly he's the source."
I approached the roses sadly and plucked a red rose with thorns scattered around it.
I asked her, "Did he refuse to buy you diamonds?... Or did he refuse to take you to the Maldives?"
She gestured for me to go and continued picking the roses sadly. "Just go..."
I lost patience, so I leaned closer to her and whispered in a tender tone I hated to pretend to use, "Okay... if you don't tell me, who will you tell? You're here in a strange house, both of us in a strange place, surrounded by danger. No matter what we do, we won't belong here. You'll live in pain in the future, and so will I, and we'll have no one to share our worries with but each other... so please tell me."
Finally, she looked at me with a look that lit a candle of hope in my heart, then said, "The wedding..."
"What about it?"
"He's ignoring it... He promised us we'd have a lavish wedding, but he's ignoring it. At first, he convinced me he was busy with work... and now he's openly ignoring it."
I remembered the detective's words when he asked me about my mother's marriage, and I realized that Page doesn't hold weddings with any of his wives to keep the marriage public, which is exactly what he's doing with my mother now.
I said, "Don't you know why?" Although my question wasn't necessary, I didn't want her to remain silent.
"I don't know... all that connects me to him is this ring."
"Give him time..."
We don't have time, Mom. The longer I wait, the closer the train of death gets, confirming our inevitable fate.
You might wonder why I didn't tell her the truth. I won't make up flimsy excuses. The simple thing is that I want to resolve this crisis on my own. Even if I fail, I know how to save my mother from death, and I hope my plan succeeds.
I turned her face and wiped her tears. "Well... that's normal for a woman in love like you to cry over, but you're beautiful, still in the prime of your youth. You don't have to be sad. Just as you got a page with your beauty, you could get a hundred others."
As I expected, my words made her smile. My words were like a magic talisman that erased her sorrows. My mother loves it when someone compliments her beauty.
"You said earlier that I haven't given you time since we got here," she said with a smile.
She nodded, "Okay, it doesn't hurt, honestly."
Then she took my hand and said, "I felt like that yesterday, and I feel guilty. So, after breakfast today, I was looking for you to go out with me, because I know you love the atmosphere... but I found you had already gone out."
"If you'd told me before, I would have waited for you."
"I wanted to surprise you with some time together... but don't worry, I bought you a dress."
She sighed rebelliously and smiled, "What's up with you these days? Does Edinburgh make people like this? First, Caster filled my wardrobe with dresses, and now you've bought me a dress. You know I usually wear shorts or skirts."
She rolled her eyes and said slyly, "Not just any dress... when you see it, you'll understand."
"Is it made of animal skin?" I said playfully, and she slapped me.
"Shut up... Oh my... Go put it on and come see you."
"K... K what? Here?"
"Please... I don't want to go into this state at all. I need to get some more air. Go put it on and come back."
"Okay..."
I went back to my room to find a photo hanging above my bed. My mother must have put it there, as she was the only one who owned this rare photograph. It was taken of me when I was eight years old, standing at the archery club where we used to practice archery. My father was holding me in his arms, wearing a tight black dress that highlighted my childhood innocence with its delicate collar, belt hugging my waist, my flowing hair, and wide smile.
Archery was my father's favorite hobby. He would take me to the club every weekend to teach me its secrets. But in the last two weeks before his death, we didn't go because of his illness. When he recovered, he wanted to honor me with a special outing. I remember how that day was one of the most beautiful days of my life: I ate pasta alone for the first time, chose my first black dress, and then went to practice archery together.
Now I understood why my mother bought me this particular dress. When I opened the box, I found the most beautiful version of the dress, in my current size. My mother had revived a precious memory I thought I'd lost forever.
I hugged the dress, tears streaming down my cheeks. I remembered my father in my arms, and my belief that he was asleep while I spoke to him. I remembered the moment I injected heroin into his body, not knowing it was the fatal dose. All because of me.
For the first time, my mother had done something so beautiful. I decided to wear this dress all day, and to wear my father's favorite perfume, the one he loved.
I quickly got ready, just as he did for me. I styled my hair the way he liked it, applied light makeup, and then put on the dress with Mary Jane shoes. The belt hugged my waist perfectly.
I looked out the window to see my mother still sitting in the garden, playing with the roses. I quickly left after spraying on a blend of amber and jasmine. But as I walked out the back door, I saw Caster and Stacker sitting under the umbrella in the garden, a cute brown golden retriever in front of them, petting Caster.
I wanted to say hello before going to my mom, so I walked over with light steps. Suddenly, everyone stopped: Caster stopped petting the dog, Stacker stopped smoking his cigarette, and even the dog stopped and looked at me.
Do I look that ugly? Or excessively beautiful?