A 7-YEAR-OLD TRAPPED IN A BURNING ROOM. AND THE HORRIFYING REASON HER MOTHER DIDN'T OPEN THE DOOR. / Chapter 4 / 14

Chapter 4 - THE WHITE ROOMI woke up to the rhythmic, electronic beeping of a heart monitor.

Everything hurt. My throat felt like it was lined with shattered glass, and my skin stung with a dull, throbbing heat. I blinked, the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room blinding me.

"She's waking up."

The voice made my blood run ice-cold.

I turned my head slowly. Standing at the foot of my hospital bed was my mother. She looked immaculate. Her hair was perfectly styled, and she wore a tasteful beige cashmere sweater. She held a crumpled tissue in her hand, dabbing at dry eyes. Beside her stood a police officer and a man in a fire investigator's uniform.

"Oh, my sweet baby," my mother sobbed, rushing to my side and grabbing my hand. Her grip was brutally tight, her nails digging into my knuckles as a warning. "We thought we lost you!"

"The fire department found her under the floorboards," the investigator said gently. "It’s a miracle she fit in there. The floor saved her from the structural collapse."

The police officer stepped forward, holding a small notebook. "Hey there, sweetheart. I know you've been through a lot. Can you tell us what happened? How did the fire start?"

My mother’s hand squeezed mine tighter. The pain was excruciating. She leaned in, her perfume smelling of roses and copper, masking the lingering scent of ash in my nose. Her eyes locked onto mine. They were flat, dead, and entirely merciless.

Tell them, her eyes dared me. Tell them I locked you in. See who they believe.

I remembered the click of the lock. The retreating footsteps. I also remembered the note in my pocket—which was now missing, replaced by standard hospital gowns. Panic flared in my chest. Where was the key?

"I..." My voice was a gravelly whisper.

"Take your time, honey," the officer said kindly.

"She was playing with matches," Jessica’s voice chimed in from the corner of the room. My sister, ten years old, chewing a piece of pink bubblegum, looking completely unfazed. "She does it all the time. Mom told her to stop."

"Jessica, please," my mother said, playing the heartbroken parent perfectly. "Don't blame your sister. She has... she has psychological issues, Officer. We've been trying to get her help since her father passed. She sets fires when she's having an episode."

"I didn't!" I croaked, tears spilling down my cheeks.

"Hush, darling, it's okay," my mother cooed, stroking my hair. She leaned her mouth close to my ear. "If you say another word, they'll put you in a mental asylum for the rest of your life," she whispered so quietly only I could hear.

I looked at the officer. He looked at my mother with sympathy.

They didn't believe the weird, traumatized seven-year-old. They believed the elegant, weeping widow. I was entirely alone. I closed my eyes and let the tears fall, nodding slowly.