Chapter 4
My dad snapped back to reality and grabbed her from behind, holding her tight.
"Are you out of your mind? Don't go over there!" he shouted.
"Let me go. My daughter's in there. I have to save her!" she screamed.
She fought like a madwoman, scratching and biting, desperate to break free from my dad's grip.
"Let me go, Vincent. It's your fault. You're a murderer. You started the fire," she yelled.
She lashed out at him with all her anger and regret, turning her pain into a fierce attack.
My dad's face was covered in blood from her nails, but he didn't let go. He held on even tighter.
"It's too late," he choked out.
His voice was thick with utter despair.
Yeah, it was too late.
The fire had already spiraled out of control.
The suitcase, which had once held my last hope for Noelle, had turned into a red-hot trap.
Unable to fight anymore, my mom collapsed to her knees, reaching out toward the fire, crying and screaming over and over.
She said, "Luciana... My daughter...
"Come out... Please, talk to me...
"It's all my fault. I'm so sorry. Come out. Let me apologize..."
It was too late for apologies.
For five years, I gave them so many chances.
When I was burning up with fever, I begged them for help.
I brought home the top student award from school to show them.
I nervously served them the food I had cooked at the table.
If only they had ever, even just once, shown me a shred of kindness.
I wouldn't end up like this today.
I hovered above them, watching coldly.
I felt nothing as I watched them fall apart.
Honestly, I even felt a hint of satisfaction.
Mom, Dad, you finally remembered me.
You finally realized you had a daughter named Luciana.
Sadly, it was way too late.
*****
The fire finally started to die.
The neighbors freaked out and called the police and the fire department.
Firefighters blasted the last flames with high-pressure hoses, but all that was left was a black, burned-up mess.
The suitcase was nothing but a shell now, just a metal frame sitting in the ashes.
My dad and my mom just collapsed there, frozen, like their souls had been sucked right out of them.
The cops put up police tape and started asking them what happened.
They couldn't say a word. They just stared at that burnt suitcase, completely numb.
Two firefighters, wearing thick gloves, slowly dug through the wreckage with their shovels.
They found me pretty fast.
To be exact, they found my corpse.
It was just a charred, twisted chunk, curled up tight and totally unrecognizable.
It didn't look human anymore.
The way my body was curled up showed how scared and hopeless I was right before I died.
When they carried my body out and laid it on a white sheet, my mom finally broke down.
Her eyes rolled back, and she passed out, falling to the ground.
Vincent didn't pass out.
He just knelt there, shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind.
His eyes stayed locked on me, empty and desperate.
Actually, he was staring at what I was holding.
The flames had been so hot that my hand had melted onto it.
A coroner stepped forward and tried to pry my fingers open.
No matter how hard he pushed, my hand didn't move at all.
Suddenly, my dad snapped. He burst through the police tape and ran to me.
"Don't touch her!" he roared.
His voice was hoarse, broken, like metal scraping.
He dropped to his knees. His hands, which were yellowed from years of smoking, were shaking as he tried to open my fingers gently.
He touched me like I wasn't a burned body, but something priceless and fragile.
Finally, he managed it.
He pulled out a half-burned, torn piece of paper from my blackened hand.
On that scorched scrap, I had written a few shaky words with the last bit of strength I had.
The letters were crooked and smeared with smoke,
But one could still read them.
It read: [Dad, Mom, I love you.]