One Friday, my afternoon flight to Singapore was canceled. Since Mom loves imported fruits and old songs, I bought a vintage vinyl record player and lots of fruits to surprise her.
I came home at 3:00 PM without notice. As I entered our subdivision, I noticed a lot of expensive cars parked outside our gate.
As I entered the mansion, I could hear loud music, laughter, and the flashing of cameras from our grand living room. It turned out that Cassandra was throwing a party with her socialite friends and some media reporters for her supposed “Charity Foundation.”
I walked quietly, not showing myself to the guests. I expected to see my mother sitting in her wheelchair in a corner, happily watching the party. But she wasn’t in the living room. She wasn’t in her master bedroom downstairs either.
My forehead furrowed. Where is my mother?
The Warehouse of Hell
I searched for him all over the house. Until I came to the very end of the hallway near the backyard—in a dark, hot, and dusty storage room filled with broken items. It was padlocked from the outside.
But from inside, I heard a soft, raspy cough.
My heart beat faster. I grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and hit the padlock with all my might until it broke. BLAAAG!
When I opened the door, I was greeted by the pungent smell of dust and urine. And the scene that opened in the light of the door was like a sharp knife repeatedly stabbed into my chest.
There, on the thin, dirty cardboard floor, lay my seventy-year-old mother. No electric fan. No proper pillow. She was shivering from the intense heat and sweat.
Beside him, there was an old plastic dog bowl containing stale, yellowed rice, and a glass of water with floating ants.
“M-Mom…?” I called out, shaking and rattling, dropping the gifts I was carrying.
When Mother Belen opened her eyes and saw me, she suddenly burst into tears of fear and tried to hide the dog’s bowl.
“A-Arthur… son… w-don’t be angry with your husband…” my mother pleaded, clearly traumatized. “T-He just hid me here because he said my smell was embarrassing for his guests… b-he said it might be seen on camera. Don’t fight him anymore, son. P-Promise, I’ll just be quiet here…”
It felt like a grenade had exploded in my brain.
My mother… the queen of my life… locked up in a hot warehouse like a sick dog while my husband and his friends enjoyed champagne and air conditioning?! She was fed from a dog bowl?!
The Volcano Eruption
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