Today, my grandmother died.

I was really sad as I was really close to her, and she was quite healthy for her age except for when she started screaming randomly out of nowhere, then going back to normal as if nothing had happened. It was a little weird, but I thought that just happens with age.

As tradition, I got to choose from one of her belonging, and I chose a book. I love reading books in general and I thought it was one of the old ones she used to read to me at night. So It might make me feel closer to her. I cried the entire day with my whole family and later spent an hour at a secret place that only my grandmaa and I knew about. Mummy got mad at me for disappearing without telling her, but she soon understood.

I couldn’t sleep alone at night because she always used to tell me bedtime stories, even after I’d grown up. I tried- I kept tossing and turning in my bed, but woke up sweating and breathing harshly because I kept seeing her in my dreams.

She was trying to reach me… trying to tell me something… but couldn’t.

To find comfort, I opened the book- but instead of a storybook, it was a diary.
It looked old and a little worn-out, as if it had been used many times. Maybe it is a journal? Maybe I can find some old memories between me and her, I thought…

Intrigued, I started flipping through the pages. It looked normal except for some pages, they had scribbled out words that I couldn’t really make out but I tried to put the pieces back together anyways and I was able to make out one message.

It said “Don’t hurt me”.

I was shocked. I started trying to read more scribbled out words and discovered that my parents were in a huge debt and were trying to get grandmaa to give her property to them.

Then, the event she mentioned in the diary are a little blurry, but if I think about it carefully… they did happen.

The fight,
The screaming,
The rage fit that my grandmaa threw.

I started suspecting them and wanted to make them confess but I didn’t had any proof except for the diary. If I confront them with the diary they would take the diary away and I won’t have anything against them.

So I started questioning them, subtly as a cover of wanting to know more about grandmaa. They answered a few of my questions but with irritation which was very suspicious. Soon they stopped answering and said to “move on and forget about it.

But I didn’t forget, I couldn’t. I had to find out what had happened.

So, I went into the storage room at night without telling anyone-because if I asked, they wouldn’t allow it. I went through a few documents. I found the debt documents- which are now paid off, a few old photos and a few hospital reports from little accidents that grandmaa had…

or were the accidents?

Now that I think about it, grandmaa wasn’t allowed to go out of her room alone because of her old age. She always had someone to accompany her. So, she couldn’t just fall down the stairs when she was with someone…

Unless that someone was the one who pushed her down.

I finally, decided to confront my father with all the evidences like the debt papers, the inherited property papers and even the diary.

He looked heartbroken, not angry or anything like I imagined he would be. He didn’t scream or yell at me, he just looked disappointed. He said “I told you to let it go… but I understand. You just lost your grandmaa. You are grieving and in a vulnerable place. Of course you doubted us after reading those entries.”

Then he showed me the hospital reports.

My grandmaa had schizophrenia. She hallucinated people and conversation that aren’t real. That is why she suddenly started screaming and had anger fit. And the rest of the time, she was just seemed completely normal.

I was so ashamed of myself that I couldn’t look dad in the eyes.

I just apologized and ran. With tears streaking down my face. I locked myself in my room and opened the diary. I read through it again now with the new information and now it all makes sense.

My grandmaa was schizophrenic that’s why she said all that. It explains all the angry outbursts and the scribbled out messages.

But...

Then I see it… a missing page.

Like its ripped out- like someone didn’t want me to read it but It has marks on the other page indicating how hard they must have written and that’s why it couldn’t be scribbled out. I grabbed a pencil and start shading the other page lightly,

And It slowly formed words.

“They are lying, don’t trust them…”