I don't know when everything started to fall apart.
Maybe it was from the very beginning. I always did the right thing… or at least I tried to. I was kind, responsible, obedient. I never broke the rules. I always gave my best. And yet, life seemed to target me every chance it got. Nothing excited me, nothing made me feel alive, the world was gray, repetitive… like I was stuck in a loop designed for misery.
And on top of that, I was alone.
Not by choice. There just… was never anyone. No one who truly saw me. No one to hold at the end of the day and say, "I'm glad you're here."
The last thread of connection I had left was my family.
My mother — the reason my standards for women were so impossibly high. Her strength, patience, selflessness, and compassion were rare virtues in a world that seemed to care less and less with each generation. While most people grew more indifferent, more detached from family and each other, she remained a beacon. She held our family together through years of financial strain and marital tension, and yet somehow never lost her grace. Always kind. Always dignified.
Then there was my father — the man who shaped who I was. He might've been the kindest soul I've ever known, or that anyone could know. When I was a child, he was successful and respected. But that same kindness made him vulnerable — easy prey for people who took advantage of his goodwill. Eventually, it cost him everything. He lost his job, and in a world that didn't value experience once you hit a certain age, he became invisible. The weight of it broke him. In his lowest moments, he even stole from my mother. It hurt. God, it hurt. But even then… I never stopped seeing the good in him. I knew he was still that same kind man. Just lost.
And my sister? Well… she was just a sister. Difficult most days, sweet when it mattered. She showed love in her chaotic way — bratty and stubborn, but always there when the chips were down.
Still, things weren't perfect. Not even close.
After everything my father did, the tension in the house became unbearable. We fought constantly. Conversations were reduced to awkward exchanges over dinner. Silence filled the spaces where warmth used to live.
Then came summer break. My mother, always trying to patch up the cracks, suggested a weekend trip. "A little escape," she said, "just to breathe." A chance to forget the weight of our lives — if only for a while.
But the morning of the trip, it all fell apart again. We argued. About stupid things. Things that didn't matter. We said things that should've never left our mouths.
And in my anger, I stayed behind.
They left without me.
And just like that… I was alone.
Again.
An entire day passed without a single word from them — which was strange, especially coming from my mother. She was the type to call constantly, even just to check if I'd eaten. Still, I brushed it off. We had argued, after all. Maybe they were still upset, giving me space.
Then the phone rang.
For a moment, I felt relief — a rush of hope swelling in my chest. Finally, I thought, they're calling. I didn't even realize I'd been holding my breath until I exhaled.
But then I saw the caller ID… and everything shifted.
It wasn't my mom.
It was the police.
My heart slammed against my ribs, and my hands started to shake. I answered, dread creeping in like ice.
"Mr. Smith… we're very sorry. There was an accident on the highway. Your family was involved. They… they died on impact. You have our deepest condolences."
The world stopped.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
I just… shattered.
Silently.
Like glass breaking from the inside, leaving no visible cracks — perfectly intact on the outside, but completely ruined within.
Months went by. And with each one, the weight grew heavier. Until I just couldn't take it anymore. There was nothing left. No people, no purpose, no meaning. So that night, I made a decision. The final one. I wanted to see the world one last time before leaving it behind.
I went for a walk. The night was cold. Quiet.
Then I heard them.
Gunshots.
Anyone else would've called the police or kept walking. But something inside me —that mix of despair, numbness, and that damn need to help even if it hurt— pulled me toward the chaos.
It was a small shopping center, there was shattered glass and blood all over the floor. The air was thick with muffled screams and panic. And then… I saw him.
A man with a gun. Shooting anything that moved. There were at least ten bodies on the ground. Maybe more. And then I saw her — a mother clinging to her children, frozen in fear. They knew they were going to be next. They had everything to live for.
And me… I had nothing left. No one to love. Nowhere to go. Nothing to lose.
So I didn't hesitate.
I ran.
With the same knife I had planned to use on myself later that night, I drove it into the attacker's neck and blood started gushing out. I thought I was gonna pass out just by the sheer amount of it. I though that was it, I had taken a life with my own hands.
But then I saw his eyes before he fell… and I'll never forget that look. It wasn't human. It was pure hatred. Madness. An abyss that almost pulled me in with him. And when I saw those eyes I knew in that moment that it still wasn´t over.
Before falling, and still laughing like a lunatic, —"HAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA" he raised his gun one last time aiming at the family.
I didn't think.
I threw myself between them and the barrel.
The bullets tore through me.
The pain was instant, sharp, like nothing I had ever felt before. But I kept going. With my last strength, I tackled him and took the gun from his hands.
Silence fell in the shopping mall.
The mother, still shaking, checked her kids. They were safe. Alive, crying and in shock, but alive.
Blood poured from my wounds. The world began spinning and everything started getting blurry. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the mother approach — slowly, hesitantly. Her gaze flickered between the attacker's lifeless body and mine. Her eyes darted from the bullet holes in my chest to the way my breath was starting to stutter.
She looked at me as if she couldn't comprehend why someone — anyone — would do what I did.
I could barely keep my eyes open. My body felt heavy. Distant sirens wailed in the background.
She knelt beside me, looked down at the man who had tried to kill her children, and let out a breath filled with relief and rage. The hatred she felt was so strong it seemed to consume her whole. I recognized that look, it was the same I saw every morning in the mirror, so I did the only thing I could think of … I took her hand. Her eyes looked down at me, surprised.
And I told her what I'd hoped someone had told me.
—"Don't fall into hatred…"— I said, my voice weaker than I expected.
—"Live the beautiful life you still have with your family. Let this make you stronger. And smile… I don't know why, but I bet when you do… you light up the world of anyone lucky enough to see it."
With my free hand, I wiped the tears from her face.
And that was it.
Darkness embraced me. Warm and Silent.
The last thing I felt was the gentle brush of her lips against my cheek. And a voice, trembling with emotion, whispering through tears:
—"I'll never forget you. Thank you… thank you for everything."