After the Funeral
Right after the funeral of our only daughter, who had just turned fifteen, life felt like it had stopped.
I remember standing by her grave, my knees shaking so much I could barely stay on my feet. People around me spoke soft words, offering condolences, but I couldn’t hear any of them. My eyes were fixed only on her white coffin.
When we came home, my husband kept repeating the same thing over and over:
— “We need to throw away all her things. Keeping them will only torture us.”
I couldn’t understand how he could even say that. To me, they weren’t just things — they carried her scent, her laughter, her touch. They were the closest I had left of her. For weeks I resisted, but eventually, after a month, I gave in.
Stepping Into Her Room
I finally opened the door to her room, the place I hadn’t dared to step into since that day.
It was as if nothing had changed. The faint fragrance of her favorite perfume still lingered in the air. On her desk, an open notebook lay waiting as if she would return any moment.
I picked up her dress, her hair ties, her favorite book — holding them tight against my chest. Tears poured down my face, as if clinging to those things could bring her back for just one more moment.
Then, from between the pages of a textbook, a folded piece of paper slipped to the floor. My heart skipped.
It was her handwriting.
On the paper were the words:
“Mom, if you’re reading this, look under the bed. You’ll understand everything.”
My hands trembled as I read it again and again. What could she have meant?
The Discovery
Gathering my courage, I knelt down and looked under the bed. My fingers brushed against an old bag, dusty and worn. With shaking hands, I pulled it out.
Inside were a few notebooks, a little box with trinkets… and her phone. The same phone my husband had said was “lost.”
A chill ran through me.
I pressed the power button. The screen lit up. It still worked. My heart pounded as I opened her messages.
The Messages
The first chat I saw was with her close friend.
February 15, 10:17 PM
Daughter: I can’t take this anymore 😔
10:18 PM
Friend: What happened?
10:19 PM
Daughter: Dad yelled at me again. He said if Mom finds out even a single word, he’ll make sure we both regret it…
10:21 PM
Friend: You’re scaring me… Did he hurt you?
10:22 PM
Daughter: Yes… not the first time. There’s a bruise on my arm. I told Mom it happened at school, but… I’m scared 😢
10:24 PM
Friend: You have to tell your mom or the police. This is too serious.
10:26 PM
Daughter: He said if I tell anyone, it’ll be the end of me. When he’s angry — he’s terrifying.
10:28 PM
Friend: But you can’t hold this all inside.
10:29 PM
Daughter: I’m only telling you because I can’t tell anyone else. If something happens to me, know this — it was him.
The Truth
The words on that screen burned into my eyes. Each line cut deeper than the last.
I kept reading them over and over, my tears blurring the letters. Images of her came rushing back — her quietness, her withdrawn look, the fear in her eyes I had ignored.
I didn’t want to believe it back then. I didn’t want to see.
But now there was no denying it.
My daughter didn’t simply leave us. She was lost because of the very person I had trusted most in my life.