The day after my high school graduation, my parents dropped a bomb: they were getting a divorce. Before I could even process the shock, my dad looked at me, his face drained of all color, and asked: "Maya, after we divorce, who do you choose to live with?" I was shaking with rage. I screamed, "I don't choose anyone!" They looked at each other, their expressions turning ghastly pale. In the next second, they sprinted toward the open window and jumped. I watched them fall. I heard the sickening sound of them hitting the pavement below. My parents committed suicide right in front of me. I thought the nightmare was over, but the horror was just beginning. On the day of the funeral, my Grandma and Grandpa pulled me aside. With twisted, strange expressions, they asked: "Maya, we’re getting a divorce too. Who do you choose to live with?" 1 The day of the funeral was gloomy, the rain coming down in sheets. I stood by the gravesite, watching my parents’ caskets being lowered into the ground. My brain was absolute mush. Grandpa walked over and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Maya, your Grandma and I are getting a divorce." I froze. "You... you guys are splitting up?" My voice trembled. Grandma shuffled out from behind him. Her face was gray, but her cloudy eyes burned with a strange, frantic intensity. "Who do you choose to live with?" It felt like someone had shoved a rock down my throat. I couldn't speak. They were saying the exact same words my parents said before they died. "W-why?" My head was spinning. "You guys have been together for fifty years. You love each other. Why divorce?" Before my parents dropped the bomb, they were the perfect couple. They never fought. They doted on me. My grandparents were the same—inseparable. I didn't understand. Why did everything change the moment I graduated? Why did everyone want a divorce? Grandma and Grandpa didn't answer. They just stared at me, waiting for the verdict. A chill crawled up my spine. The image of my parents’ desperate, final glance before they jumped flashed in my mind. "No... No! I won't choose..." I stumbled backward, shaking my head. "Don't ask me! I'm not choosing!" Their expressions instantly sank. The fire in their eyes extinguished, replaced by a hollow darkness. Without answering my question, they turned around and walked straight toward the busy road outside the cemetery. "Grandpa! Grandma!!" I screamed, terror ripping through my throat. Thud! A semi-truck couldn't brake in time. It slammed into them with a bone-chilling crunch. Blood mixed with the rainwater on the asphalt, spreading into a crimson river. I threw myself onto the wet ground, kneeling in the puddle of water and blood, my limbs ice cold. Echoing in my ears was their final question: "Maya, we’re getting a divorce. Who do you choose to live with?" 2 The police arrived quickly. I sat on the curb, my mind a total blank. "You're saying they just... ran into traffic?" Detective Miller frowned, scrutinizing me. I tore at my hair, shaking my head violently. My thoughts were a chaotic mess driving me toward insanity. "I don't know... They suddenly told me they were divorcing and asked who I wanted to live with. I said I wouldn't choose, and then they just..." Miller’s brow furrowed. "Why?" I opened my mouth, but the words stuck. "I don't know..." I finally choked out. "I really don't know why they killed themselves..." Tears streamed down my face. In three days, I had lost four family members. Miller checked the nearby surveillance cameras. It confirmed my story. On the footage, my grandparents clearly walked into the path of the truck on purpose. Miller looked even more disturbed. He glanced at me with a strange expression. Just then, my phone rang. It was my Uncle Ben. He told me to come to his house immediately. He said it was urgent. Detective Miller patted my shoulder and offered to drive me. On the way, Miller asked more about my family. When I told him about my parents jumping off the building, his face darkened. "Your parents asked you who you'd live with before they jumped, too?" I nodded numbly, consumed by grief. Miller muttered, "This is too weird. Why ask that specific question before dying? Why would perfectly sane people commit suicide en masse?" His sharp eyes locked onto me, searching for any crack in my story. "I really don't know!" I was on the verge of a breakdown. "I want to know why too!" We pulled into Uncle Ben’s driveway. Uncle Ben and Aunt Sarah were sitting on the couch, stiff as statues. When they saw me, it was like a spell broke. They pulled me down to sit between them. But the moment I sat, Aunt Sarah said something that made my blood run cold. "Maya, your uncle and I... we can't go on like this." "You guys are divorcing too?" I felt like all the energy had been drained from my body. My voice was barely a whisper. I locked eyes with Detective Miller. He looked just as shocked as I was. We both realized it. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Uncle Ben and Aunt Sarah looked rigid, their faces pale as sheets. "Yeah..." Uncle Ben’s voice sounded like he was being strangled. Aunt Sarah suddenly grabbed my wrist. Her grip was iron-tight. I tried to pull away, but she held on, staring dead into my eyes. Her voice shook, forcing my heart to hammer against my ribs. "Who do you choose to live with?" "I..." I couldn't breathe. They didn't give me a second to think. Their urgency ramped up. "Choose, Maya! Who do you pick?!" I struggled, biting my lip until it bled, keeping my mouth shut tight. I was terrified. I knew if I spoke, they would die. Their faces turned beet red. Sweat beaded on their foreheads. Veins popped in their necks. It looked like someone was holding a gun to their backs, forcing them to do this. "No... don't force me..." I shook my head, feeling like my brain was going to explode. Seeing I wouldn't answer, their breathing turned ragged. They gasped for air, their eyes filling with despair and madness. They started shaking violently. "Choose! The time is almost up!" Uncle Ben shook me roughly, his hands bruising my arms. "No! No! I don't choose anyone! Uncle Ben, Aunt Sarah, what is happening to you? Why do I have to choose? What is going on?!" I screamed, terror and confusion suffocating me. Suddenly, their faces went slack. Total misery. "Time's up," Uncle Ben whispered, his eyes void of hope. What time? Before I could ask, they both pulled knives from their jackets. I scrambled backward in horror. Detective Miller lunged forward to stop them. But it was too late. Slash. Warm blood sprayed across my face. My uncle and aunt collapsed to the left and right of me, like puppets with their strings cut. Dead. 3 I sat there, frozen. My brain went blank, like a fuse had blown. Detective Miller looked horrified. Uncle Ben and Aunt Sarah died with their eyes wide open, tears still streaming down their faces, as if they had so much more to say. I looked at the blood on the floor and finally vomited. Parents. Grandparents. Aunt and Uncle. Six people. Gone. And every single one asked me to make a choice before they died. Who was next? Was there anyone left? I couldn't think... Tears poured out, and my body shook uncontrollably. It felt like an invisible hand was manipulating everything. Later, sitting in the ER hallway, my hands were ice cold. The bodies had been taken away. The blood wasn't fully cleaned up. The air smelled of iron. Detective Miller stood nearby, face grim. He lit a cigarette, his hands trembling. After a long silence, he said, "This isn't normal." My Nana (maternal grandmother) rushed in. I threw myself into her arms and wailed. Nana’s eyes were red. She grabbed my hand and said she was taking me home. I wanted to ask her so many things, but my throat was swollen shut. She didn't speak the whole ride. Her face was grayer than the overcast sky. "Nana," I whispered, "do you know something?" Her eyes flickered, avoiding mine. "Don't think about it. Be a good girl. Let's go home and sleep." "But why did they die?" I pressed. "Why did they all want a divorce? Why did they ask me who to live with?" "Enough!" she snapped, her voice trembling. I flinched. The car went silent, save for the rhythmic swish-swish of the wipers. Maybe she realized she scared me, because her expression softened into her usual warmth. She smoothed my hair. "Maya, just rest. We can talk tomorrow, okay?" She wouldn't talk, so I stopped asking. But my mind was racing. Did they really die because I refused to choose? Back at Nana's house, I showered and lay in bed. A nameless dread wrapped around me. What did Nana know? I wanted to run out and demand answers, but then I heard whispering from the living room. It was Nana. Her voice was hushed, but through the thin walls, I caught fragments. "...Yeah, can't delay anymore... time is almost up..." "...I know. I'll take her over there tomorrow..." The words were broken, but terrifying. Time is almost up? That’s what Uncle Ben said before he died. I held my breath, trying to hear more, but the voices cut off abruptly. The silence was heavy. I instinctively scooted back against the headboard. Suddenly, the door creaked open. Nana walked in. Her eyes—usually so kind—were now staring at me with a dark, predatory intensity. "Why aren't you asleep?" Her tone was cold. Not like my Nana at all. I stammered, "I... I was just about to..." Her face instantly shifted back to a gentle smile. She walked over and patted my head. "Sleep. Tomorrow, it all ends." My throat tightened. "Tomorrow? What's happening tomorrow?" She went silent again. "Nana," I tested the waters, "can you tell me what's going on? Why did everyone die?" A flash of coldness passed through her eyes before she handed me a glass of warm milk. "Drink this first. You'll understand tomorrow." She pushed the glass toward me. I had zero appetite, but seeing her desperate stare, I forced it down. Satisfied, she left. I lay there, tossing and turning. It was all so bizarre. Why did she keep saying the time was almost up? Around 1:00 AM, my phone buzzed. A text message. Who would text me at this hour? I unlocked the screen. It was Detective Miller. I tapped the message, and my scalp went numb. "Maya, RUN! That is not your Nana! Get out of there!" Creaaaak. My bedroom door handle turned. Nana was coming back. 4 A long shadow stretched across the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut, feigning sleep. She entered, her footsteps barely audible. She paced around the room, then stopped right by my bed. I felt her shallow, ragged breath on my face as she leaned over me. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought she’d hear it. I was sweating bullets. Finally, she turned and softly closed the door. I opened my eyes and grabbed my phone. I needed to ask Miller what he meant. Not my Nana? But the chat window was empty. The message was gone. Even Detective Miller’s contact info—gone. Deleted. I froze, then realized: Nana. She must have deleted it while I was "sleeping." My palms were sweating. I crept out of bed and tiptoed to the door. I cracked it open an inch. Nana was standing right there! She was facing the door, just staring at it. I almost screamed. "Where are you going this late?" she asked, her voice low and gloomy. I fought the urge to collapse. "I... I'm thirsty. Getting water." She didn't speak. Her eyes followed me. I walked past her, my throat burning. She followed me to the kitchen and watched me drink. I gulped the water down, shaking. "Done," I said, forcing a smile. "Going back to bed." She didn't smile. Just nodded. "Sleep early. Stop thinking so much." I ran back to my room, heart pounding. I didn't dare go out again. She was guarding the door. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I passed out. When I woke up the next morning, I checked my phone. Still no message from Miller. "Where are we going today?" I asked Nana as she packed a bag. "The funeral home... for Uncle Ben and Aunt Sarah?" She paused, then slowly looked up. Her voice was dangerously soft. "Who said we're going to the funeral home?" My stomach dropped. "Then... where?" She smiled—a gentle, grandmotherly smile—but it made my skin crawl. "You want the truth, right? I promised I'd tell you. Come with me, and you'll understand." I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm as I got into her car. But ten minutes into the drive, I realized something. This was the route to the hospital. I gripped the seatbelt. "Nana... why are we going to the hospital?" She didn't look at me. "I planned to take you anyway. You're sick..." My heart rate spiked. I was sure now. She wasn't my Nana. My real Nana told me everything. She never hid things. And why take me to the hospital when I'm physically fine? "Who are you?" I scooted toward the door. "Detective Miller said... you aren't my Nana." The air in the car turned instantly frigid. She chuckled, the wrinkles around her eyes twitching. "Silly child. What are you talking about?" Her tone became overly sweet. "Maya, don't be scared. Nana is here. We'll face this together." I was terrified. "I... I need to pee..." I pulled the door handle. Locked. Child lock was on.
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