A Mother's Final Portrait

The Truth

A week went by, and the cops finally released the DNA report. My DNA report. When they called my mother, she was making breakfast for Yvonne.

I stood beside her, numbly looking at my mother as she delicately plated every single dish. She knew her beloved daughter cared about details.

"Melanie, we have the victim's DNA report. She's an adult woman aged twenty. She was abused horrifically before her death. More than thirty fractured bones and two dozen knife wounds. They were done before she died."

My mother froze and stopped pouring milk. Her arm was a little petrified. She didn't even think when she blurted, "Really? We have a cruel killer, then."

"I know. I just want to arrest them and give the victim the justice she deserves."

"Yeah. I'll get to work later," my mother answered and poured the milk into Yvonne's mug. She even placed Yvonne's favorite cartoon spoon by the mug.

Then, my mother went to Yvonne's room and was about to rouse her for breakfast.

"Sure, Melanie. We'll be waiting."

Before her colleague hung up, my mother finally remembered something. So, she blurted, "Wait."

"What is it, Melanie?"

My mother hesitated for a few moments and asked, "What's the victim's name?" She was visibly nervous. There was worry and unease in her eyes.

I was floating right beside her, staring at her numbly. I wondered what kind of look she would have the moment the news hit her. Would she be shocked? Would she be overwhelmed with regret? Would she cry her heart out and apologize to me? Would she… would she at least show me a bit of love? Just a bit?

My thoughts were cut off. My mother's colleague answered, "Let's see… Hmm… Hendrickson. Ah yes, the victim's name is Jessica Hendrickson."