With the help of the two of them I had actually made it into the house unharmed. Sooyoung had offered to act as a decoy to distract the reporters and everyone else until Sehun and I had climbed over the fence unnoticed. I knew that in retrospect - as soon as this nightmare was finally, finally over - I would have to work hard to pay back for all this. But I still had a long, rocky road ahead of me until that time. Because although the first hurdle was now overcome, the next one was already waiting for me - the conversation with Mum. 

No matter how hard I tried to prepare myself, to prepare myself for what was to come, I knew that this last step, the truth I had been searching for all my life, would turn everything upside down. However, I didn't have the slightest idea whether I would be able to deal with it later. What if this hard, cold, truth threw me into a deep and dark hole? What if I couldn't recover from it for the rest of my life? Yes, I was terribly afraid of it when I took the first step into this hell that was calling my home home. 

I almost felt as if I was running straight into my doom. And the strength in my legs almost left me, too, to keep going, if Sehun had not been by my side the whole time. His closeness gave me the incredible courage and security and strength I so desperately needed to walk through the entrance hall of my home, where there was nothing to suggest that my mum had left a trail of destruction on Friday night. The phone was neatly back in its rightful place on the wall, the drawers of the dresser were back where they belonged. And even the coat rack stood upright. 

The only witnesses to the incident were us, Sehun and I, and also the bare space on the wall where the mirror once hung, before it had scattered into thousands of splinters on the floor. Apart from that it was as usual - quiet and peaceful. And quiet. As if nothing and nobody was in any of the rooms. As if nothing had ever happened. »M-m-mum?«, I croaked anxiously and although my voice was hardly louder than a whisper, it cut through this unbearable silence like a jackhammer. »Mum, where are you?«, I cried again, this time louder and looked around. 

But nobody answered me. On shaky legs I finally went into the kitchen on my right, but found it empty. Next I searched the two guest rooms at the end of the corridor, but they too seemed deserted. There was no trace of Mum anywhere. After the search in her bedroom, the bathroom and even in the toilets was equally unsuccessful and sobering, there was only one room in the house where she could stay. Provided she had not left the country early. »I think she's upstairs«, I immediately said my suspicion out loud and received a questioning look from Sehun. »in the torture chamber.«, I continued.

»Torture chamber?«, he repeated without understanding. And even though I felt anything but like it at that moment, a weak smile crept up on my lips. After all, his reaction to that word, his shock and at the same time the curiosity in his voice, was the same as mine once was, when I had wondered for years what was hidden from me in this room. Back then, when I could not even imagine in my wildest dreams that the truth was quite different. »Yes.«, I answered him curtly, because I simply couldn't find the right words for an explanation, and meant for him to follow me to the upper floor. 

With every step I took, however, I felt increasingly worse, simply more excited and queasy. Every creak reminded me of what it was like for me when Mum came upstairs to disappear into the torture chamber. And also of the fact that I was now on the direct way there, to finally and without backing down, learn the whole truth about it. But - what exactly was there to found out? »What does that mean, she is in the torture chamber.« Sehun resumed the thread of the conversation as we climbed the last step. »Over there.«, I explained and pointed to the locked door at the end of the corridor. 

She seemed to me like a monster, ominous and terribly intimidating as ever. As if behind it was an omnivorous black hole that tore me into a vortex of despair and hate as soon as I dared to come within an inch of it. And who knows - maybe it did. But there was no way around it. I now had to open this door. I had to face the truth once and for all. No matter how painful it was. With sweaty, trembling hands I finally pushed the handle down. The creaking and howling of the old hinges gave me icy cold goose bumps that wandered all over my body. 

The darkness that welcomed me and the stuffy air inside almost took my breath away. At first I saw nothing, because the blinds of the windows were completely closed. But I heard the soft, crackling hum of a music box dancing through the room. »Mum?«, I asked cautiously into the darkness and imagined hearing a barely audible sobbing in response. Through a sudden surge of courage and determination I finally stepped further into the room. »Mum.«, I repeated, blinking a few times against the darkness and thought I recognized a dark shadow. 

I approached her with a pounding heart until I stood directly in front of her and looked down on the kneeling, huddled figure of my mother. I had never seen her so helpless and desperate before. And admittedly, I was too shocked at first to think of anything else but that I wanted to hold her in my arms. Because in that tiny second between shock and fear, this woman, who sat before me like a pile of misery, sobbing heartbreakingly, was suddenly just my mother. Or at least someone I had thought all my life.

Even if it sounds crazy - no matter how often and how hard her dislike had hit me in the past years, at that moment I actually felt pity. Honestly and truly. I was even about to put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but at the very last moment I couldn't do it. It was as if there was an insurmountable wall that had separated her and me for ages and kept me from doing it. And at the same time I remembered what I was here for. How much she had done to me, how much she had done to Dad. And also how much she owed me - the whole truth. No lies, no excuses.

For this reason I could not manage to show her even a little bit of my pity, my affection. She didn't deserve that. Then why do I feel like this? What the hell was wrong with me? »Why are you here?«, her tearful voice took me out of my thoughts. It was so unusual to hear her like that, without any sharpness, without hate. »You know why.«, I replied, wondering myself about the bitterness that spoke out of me. Again she sobbed, »Tell me.«, I demanded with all the hardness I could muster. 

Because this one time I didn't want to be the weak boy who didn't know how to help himself against this woman. This time I had to stand firm, not allow this ridiculous feeling of pity to breed. The most important thing was that this one time I got what I wanted - answers. »You read it, the newspaper article.«, she said, not a bit surprised, but not a bit remorseful either, which gave me an inner sting that brought me back down to earth mercilessly. My Mum was crying, or rather she was crying, but not because she was sorry. And also not because she felt sorry for me. No,