My parents weren’t home that day, and the local auxiliary nurse who had confirmed me pregnant that day started to cry, telling everyone who cared to ask what my parents had done to me, how they had treated me and how I was badly maltreated.
When my parents returned home, most of the agitation had died down but the little people that still stood by fought for me and my parents were forced to leave the area and their beautiful house behind when the people threatened to hand them over to the police.
They fled one night in their cars with as much luggage as they could take with them. My sister health had started to deteriorate since the night of the incident. She needed good medical care but my parents cared more about their reputation than they cared about the daughter they even loved.
They got her antibiotics and painkillers and she started to heal slowly. But then one day, I don’t know how it all happened, my sister discovered that she was pregnant and she told my parents about it. Still caring more about their reputation than my sister’s health, they decided that she aborted it. My sister protested against the idea, but my parent’s mind were all set.
They didn’t want to be the grandparents of a bastard and they made her do it. And she died.
My sister died.
They killed her.
Maybe they didn’t actually put the knife to her throat, but her blood was certainty on their hands.
It brought them so much pain and shame and eventually, the gravity of all they had done finallydawned on them. They hadn’t told anyone about the death of my sister, but they were in so much shame and pain and embarrassment and it was that embarrassment that brought us here, to the last chapter.