Everything had seemed so normal until it wasn’t.
Halfway through, Mom quietly stood and walked into the kitchen.
While the others remained unaware, she pulled out a kitchen knife, then, without warning, began slashing at them in a frenzy.
Her movements were swift and terrifying.
None of them had time to react before collapsing one by one.
Even their screams didn’t stop her.
In the video, her face was twisted with fury as she swung the knife over and over again like she wasn’t the same woman who once held us in her arms.
It was as if she were striking someone she had hated her whole life; her brutality was chilling, far beyond savage.
Even in death, Dad, my brother and Grandma wore frozen expressions of pain and disbelief.
Their eyes remained wide open, clouded with confusion, as if they had died without understanding why, unable to rest in peace.
Only after making sure all three were completely lifeless did Mom turn and leave the house, calm and satisfied.
But before stepping out the door, she looked straight at the surveillance camera, deep, deliberate.
I swallowed my grief and kept replaying that video again and again.