"My deepest condolences Mrs James, your son did not make it."

Mrs James' knees buckled under her weight and she collapsed onto the wooden floor, her shaking hands clapped over her mouth. She shut her eyes tightly and a few tears raced down her cheeks, her face having lost all color upon hearing the words that haunt countless mothers at night.

A few seconds later, she let out a shrilling wail, a scream containing so much misery, so much despair that it made my soul ache for her and a family that would never become whole again. She screamed as if I had delivered her the news of her own execution.

"My baby boy!" She sniffled, wiping her dripping nose on a small handkerchief with small, colorful flowers embroidered onto it.

As I was about to turn around and allow her some time alone to process her emotions, she sputtered a question, rather hastily, like she was eager to get it out of the way.

"For how long did his body resist the poison?"

My body came to an abrupt halt, forcing me to stop in my tracks. Unwillingly, as if programmed to do so, I turned around slowly and took in the sight in front of me. She was still bent down, her face looking down at the floor but there was a different expression painted on it now. Her face was now twisted in an ugly grimace, her mouth contorted into some kind of malevolent, wolf-like grin. Suddenly, it became hard to breathe, like someone had tied a rope around my lungs, ceasing them from functioning properly.

"Mrs James," I begun, but had to stop myself to make sure that I had really heard her right, that this was not some foul joke manufactured in my rather imaginative mind. It was as if time had slowed down, each second painfully dragging by.

Her head jerked upwards suddenly, her bulging eyes meeting mine, and my suspicion was confirmed.

"I never told you the cause of his death."

Written on the 3rd of January 2023