For five years, I quietly paid my in-laws every month to honor my late husband’s memory. I thought I was being a devoted widow. Then, I opened his urn and found only rocks. | HO
“Yes, he’s doing great. He doesn’t stop asking about his grandparents. This weekend, if you want, I can bring him over to spend the day with you. I’ve almost finished paying the debt. I’d like you to be more comfortable with him.”
Upon hearing that, Viola’s face soured, and she waved her hand nervously. “No, no. Your father is doing bad with his leg and I have a headache. A child in the house is too much ruckus. We aren’t up for noise. Finishing the payments is your business. We’ll call you when we’re feeling better so you can bring him.”
The same excuse as always. In five years, the times little Malik had stepped into that house could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and every time they kicked us out after fifteen minutes with any pretext.
“Okay, well, maybe another time.” I lowered my head, swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat.
“Go on, leave now. Standing in the draft, you’re going to catch a cold and then it’s worse.” Saying this, Viola slammed the door shut. The deadbolt sounded with a definitive click.
I stood there planted, looking at the cold and impersonal iron door. Not an invitation to come in, not a glass of water. I pressed my ear to the door, hoping to hear my father-in-law’s voice, or at least the sound of the television. Any normal noise of an inhabited house. But no. Inside reigned absolute silence.
A terrifying silence, as if that house were a giant tomb devouring any sound of life. The wind sneaked through the stairwell, chilling my back. I shivered and pulled up the collar of my jacket, turning around to go down. My heart felt heavy. *Marcus, you left and stuck me with this debt. I’ve almost finished paying it. Why are your parents still so cold to your son and me?*
The question floated in my mind, getting lost in the void of the dark staircase. I didn’t know that in the precise instant I turned around, a pair of eyes was watching me through the cracked blind—a look that wasn’t that of an old man, but one sharp and calculating.
