I Sent Daughter to My Mom for Summer, Coming There I Learned My Mom Died and Daughter Disappeared – Story of the Day

I sent my daughter to Mom's for summer, only for my mother to end up dead and my daughter, Petra, to go missing. Hello, I'm Carla, and this is my story — a story about how I almost lost my entire family. I had to find Petra before something worse happened to her. But would fate favor us? Would I find my little girl before it was too late?

When was the last time a morning seemed this calm? Carla wondered, flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine and sipping her black coffee. The house seemed too quiet with Petra at her nana's. Carla had to admit she had started missing the morning chaos and her teenage daughter.

As soon as Petra's summer vacation had started, the girl had been insisting on visiting her nana. She kept telling Carla she wanted to spend the summer at Rosaline's house in Ohio. Carla had relented. She was a little hesitant initially because she was sending her daughter away from herself for the first time, but what could go wrong?

Petra was slowly spreading her wings, and Carla knew it was time her teenage daughter had the freedom to make her own choices. Petra was 14, after all. Carla didn't want to be a strict mother to her. She was, in fact, glad her daughter wanted to visit family — unlike most teenagers these days.

Petra is a smart girl; she will manage on her own at Mom's, Carla had thought…

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After Carla's husband walked out on them, and she became a single mother, life was not easy for her. She was worried about how she'd raise her little girl, who was only three when her husband left.

Carla would never forget the countless questions a young Petra would ask her about where her daddy had gone. It had taken her a lot of strength to hide the truth from her daughter until she was six when Carla told her everything. And Petra handled the truth well — at least she was braver than Carla.

"It's OK, Mumma," she had said. "I have you." Her little girl was so courageous.

It's just that I miss her now, Carla thought sadly. I hope she's having a blast at her nana's.

Carla put the magazine away and took another sip of her coffee. She had to stay back due to work, so she couldn't accompany her daughter. She reached for her phone and checked the messages.

Petra seldom called her since she went to Rosaline. They would FaceTime occasionally when the grandmother-granddaughter duo would be trying out new recipes. And sometimes, Petra would send her videos of Rosaline's vegetable garden. This morning, there were no messages from Petra.

Carla sighed and placed the phone away, all ready to get ready for work. But right then, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. She glanced at the number, and her brows furrowed in confusion. Why is an unknown number calling me? She put the coffee cup down and picked up her phone.

"Hello?" she asked calmly as she answered.

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"Am I talking to Ms. Carla?" asked the voice on the other end of the line. She could hear some commotion in the background, but she had no idea what those sounds were.

"Um, yes, you are. What is this about?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?" Carla jumped to her feet in shock. "Are you sure you've called the right number?"

No, I heard it wrong. It can't be Mom, a voice inside her told her. Carla had spoken to Rosaline only yesterday. How could she be dead? But then, the officer went on to reveal the victim's name and address, and Carla's heart sank. Her mother, her loving mother, was…no more.

"Oh God…" Carla sobbed quietly, her grip on the phone tightening. "How? What happened to her? Who would do this to her?" she asked, her voice croaking.

"We are still investigating, ma'am," replied the officer. "I can't say much at the moment. We'll know more once the forensic reports are in. We, uh, found your number on speed dial and thought it was best to call you. Will it be possible for you to come to the station?"

"What about my daughter? Is she safe?" Carla asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

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"Your daughter was here with your mother?" asked Officer Cummins. There was a hint of surprise in his tone, as if he hadn't expected her to ask about Petra. A wave of terror swept over Carla.

"She was visiting my mother for summer!" she replied too quickly, forgetting about Rosaline for a moment. "Officer, where's my daughter? Tell me she's alive!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I wasn't informed of any individuals at the residence, and we checked the property, but we didn't find anyone else. Do you have your daughter's contact information? We could try tracing her."

"I-I have her contact number. Please note it down…" Carla was panicking now. She gave Petra's contact to the officer, tears welling up in her eyes.

Where did Petra go? How did Mom end up dead?

"You have to find her, officer," she said tremblingly. "She's just a child. This is the first time she's visiting my mother's town…I couldn't come because I was busy." Carla couldn't believe she was dealing with all of this.

"We'll try our best to locate her, ma'am," Officer Cummins assured her. "Can you provide us with your daughter's details — full name, any distinguishing features? When was the last time you spoke to her?"

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"I think yesterday morning," Carla replied. "Yes. She videocalled me. She was excited about some recipes my mother and she were going to try. How could this happen? I-I don't understand," she added, her voice quivering.

"Please stay calm, ma'am," Officer Cummins said, sensing the fear in her voice. "I know what has happened is unfortunate, but we'll try our best. It would be great if you could tell us what your daughter was wearing the last time you saw her?"

Carla did that. She told the officer everything — how she couldn't accompany Petra because of work, how her daughter was just a teenager who was visiting Rosaline's hometown alone for the first time, and how terrified she was.

The call was disconnected, with Officer Cummins promising to be in touch with an update. But Carla couldn't wait for an update. She had to know where her daughter was. She immediately called Petra. Several rings went through, but the calls were never answered.

"Honey, answer. Please, baby girl, please," Carla muttered to herself, tears running down her cheeks as she called her daughter one more time. But this time, again, it just went to voicemail.

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"Where did you go, honey?"

Carla buried her face in her palms, crying. She had already lost her husband and mother. She couldn't even bear the thought of losing her daughter. What had happened? How did Mom...did someone want to hurt her?

Rosaline was a sweet soul; she was the last person on the planet to ever get into a conflict. Carla couldn't think about her dead mother for long. She quickly dismissed her mother's thoughts. She felt terrible about it, but right now, she was more concerned about Petra. Her teenage daughter was missing, and she had no idea where she was.

Carla quickly called her boss and told him she would need some time off — until her daughter was found. Thankfully, her boss was understanding.

The next thing she knew, Carla was on a flight to her mother's hometown. She just had her essentials with her. She hadn't been able to pack much. How could she when her thoughts kept returning to Petra?

She had tried calling Petra again and again, but her daughter's phone was switched off. She had then called Officer Cummins asking for an update, but nobody had any clue about Petra. He said the neighbors hadn't seen her. The officers were working on tracing her last location.

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Carla's hands trembled uncontrollably as she clutched her phone in her palms, waiting for the journey to be over. She couldn't wait to reach her mother's hometown. The pilot's voice soon snapped her to the present. They were preparing for landing.

As Carla exited the airport, she hailed a taxi to her mother's house. There were still a few miles she needed to cover before she reached the place where her mother was found dead in the basement.

Someone had murdered her, and Carla's heart ached to even think about the pain Rosaline would've gone through. This place where she had spent her entire childhood had now taken her mother and daughter away from her. What had happened?

Carla repeatedly checked her phone throughout the ride in case there was an update from Officer Cummins. But nothing. No phone calls or messages. I should trust them. They will find her. She told herself.

When the taxi pulled over in front of her mother's house, Carla couldn't help but notice how depressed the place looked now.

Ugly yellow crime scene tapes around the house fluttered in the breeze, and a series of police cruisers were parked around. With tears in her eyes, she got out of the vehicle and marched to her mother's front door.

She was about to step over the crime scene tape when a stiff voice from behind startled her.

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Carla spun around to notice an officer hastily walking toward her. "Can't you see it's a crime scene?" he snarled as he approached her. Then he noticed her luggage. "You are?"

"My mother was found dead in this house this morning! My daughter is missing, and the police haven't been able to help me! Do I still need to introduce myself?" Carla snapped, swallowing thickly.

"Ma'am, please, calm down. We are doing our best. I'm the sheriff here," he said. "Please come with me."

Sheriff Rodriguez took her to the police station, where he informed her that her mother's body was taken for autopsy. They suspected Rosaline was killed sometime during the night. "And I know this may come as a shock to you, but we suspect your daughter might be involved."

"Petra?" Carla shrieked. "She's just a child, Sheriff! She would never do that to her grandmother! She loved my mother!"

"Ma'am, I understand this is incredibly difficult for you, but all signs point to your daughter right now. There's no other reasonable explanation we can find. There were no signs of forced entry, so it had to be someone who knew your mother and was voluntarily let inside the house…Or someone staying with her. Maybe she killed her grandmother, then realized she had caused trouble for herself and was scared, so she ran away."

"I don't know what your evidence suggests, Sheriff, but I know my daughter!" Carla said defensively. "And I know my little girl would never hurt someone!"

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"I wish it were that simple, ma'am," he sighed. "But the situation suggests otherwise. We haven't been able to trace Petra's phone and her sudden disappearance—it's a troubling set of circumstances. I've seen cases where young people, under the influence of emotions, can act in a way no one expects," he added. "It's our duty to consider every possibility in the investigation. It's only natural that, as a mother, you will defend your child."

He sounds ridiculous! Carla's mind screamed. She couldn't understand how the sheriff could blame it all on her daughter. She knew her little girl and Petra would never do something so heinous.

"I don't agree with you, Sheriff," Carla stood her ground. "I know my daughter. And I know she won't kill someone. What are we doing next? What evidence do you have against my daughter? I don't want to listen to your theories. I want to be a part of the investigation. Let's go back to my mother's house!"

"No, ma'am," Sheriff Rodriguez dismissed her flatly. "I understand your concern, but I can't let you interfere in the investigation. Let us do our job."

"You don't understand!" Carla's eyes welled up. "I can't sit here and wait for my daughter to show up. Please, let me help you!"

Sheriff Rodriguez shook his head. "I can't allow that, ma'am. Please understand. It's too dangerous. You can contaminate the crime scene, and we could lose important evidence. Please, you're a civilian, and I can't let you interfere."

"Fine. But as a mother, I can't just sit and wait!" Carla retorted and left the station. She checked into a motel and wondered what she would do now. Petra's phone was still unreachable, and she had no idea how to find her daughter.

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Sitting in the motel room, Carla recalled the sheriff's words, and she couldn't believe how they could suspect Petra. Her daughter was not like other teenagers. Petra loved Rosaline so much that she had decided to spend her entire summer with her. Something wrong, terribly wrong, had happened, and Carla knew there was only one way she would find out what had gone wrong — She had to visit her mother's house.

She would hopefully find something related to Petra's innocence there. And maybe she would also figure out what happened with Rosaline. But with all the police patrolling outside her mother's house, it seemed impossible she would make it into the place. And after her heated conversation with the sheriff, the cops would be more alert.

Carla anxiously paced the space, thinking about what to do. She certainly couldn't visit Rosaline's house during the day when the cops were around, but the sun was already setting behind the skies, and in a few hours, it would be night. Carla looked out her room window, and an idea crossed her mind.

That night, Carla sat in a taxi, hidden in the shadows, watching the house where her mother's life was tragically cut short. The police cars were gone, and the coast was clear. She looked around to ensure she wouldn't be seen, and to her relief, she could not see a single soul in close sight.

"Please wait for me. I won't be long," Carla told the driver, who nodded.

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Her heart pounding, she got out of the car and cautiously walked toward her late mother's sealed-off property, taking care no one was watching her. She could hear the distant hooting of an owl. The shrill cry of crickets pierced the surrounding silence, and the chilly breeze at night made her shiver. As she climbed over the crime scene tape, Carla took a last look around to ensure she was alone.

The wood underneath her feet creaked softly, and a strange odor hit her nostrils as she finally entered the house. She shrunk her nose in disgust as she looked around. Carla didn't dare to flick on the light switch because she didn't want to attract attention. The moonlight coming in through the living room windows would do for now. She noticed two cups on the coffee table, as if Rosaline had someone over the last time.

Every single thing in this living room reminded Carla of her late mother. Rosaline loved having flowers in every corner of the room, so Carla had gifted her vases. Now those vases sat covered in dust and cobwebs, and she would never see her mother change the flowers in there.

As Carla approached the coffee table, her attention was drawn to a photo frame on the nearby wall. Petra and Rosaline were smiling joyfully in the picture while Petra snapped it. My girl would never hurt her grandmother. I just can't believe it. A tear escaped Carla's eye, but she quickly wiped it away.

She was here to look for any clues that could prove her daughter was innocent, not to get emotional, although the situation was such that she couldn't help it.

"You're innocent, Petra. I know you didn't do this," she whispered to herself.

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Carla moved across the house. She went through the cabinet in the corner and even looked under the sofa cushions but found nothing that could aid her search. Her hands landed on a few files in the other cabinet, but they were nothing useful, either. The shelves were just filled with decorative pieces.

Carla sighed. How am I supposed to help Petra if I don't find anything? I am no policewoman, but I have to keep trying. Her eyes scanned the room once again, desperately searching for any shred of evidence.

Suddenly, the distant sound of a car engine shattered the silence. Panic gripped Carla, and she peered out the living room window to notice a police car pulling over outside. Someone, a tall figure, stepped out of the vehicle in the dark, and blood drained off Carla's face.

She couldn't be seen here. She dashed to the connecting kitchen, crouching behind the island. Carla peered out from behind the counter. The figure was none other than Sheriff Rodriguez. He stepped inside, and with his back facing her, he took a look around before closing the door as if he didn't want to be seen.

Carla's eyes widened in horror as she witnessed him removing a tiny bottle from his pocket and meticulously wiping a section of the floor with the liquid in it. It was as if he was trying to get rid of traces — fingerprints. Why would he do such a thing? What is he trying to hide?

Carla watched him wipe the surface in a hurry. She strained to maintain her cover as he marched to the coffee table and began cleaning the cup. Right then, her foot betrayed her, landing on a creaky floorboard. She immediately sank onto the floor, but the sheriff's sharp gaze locked onto her hiding spot. Panic surged through her veins.

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She covered her mouth to quiet her heavy breathing. But she had alerted him. His footsteps seemed to get closer and closer. I won't be able to escape. It's over. She thought disappointedly, closing her eyes as if doing so would help her become invisible. Suddenly, Sheriff Rodriguez's police radio cackled, and his footsteps halted.

Carla opened her eyes. She heard the sheriff leaving, his footsteps growing distant. She peered out from behind the island. His figure became smaller and smaller, and he quickly left the house, the front door shutting behind him a creak.

Carla sprang to her feet and cautiously approached the window. She saw the sheriff get into the car and drive away. She wondered what was so important that he immediately left the house.

Without wasting a minute, she left Rosaline's house and dashed to the taxi.

"Please follow that car, but make sure we are at a good distance," she told the driver.

"That's a police car we are following, ma'am," said the man as he turned on the ignition. "I will charge $100 more."

"Alright, no problem. Just follow him," Carla replied desperately. She would give anything to solve the mystery of her missing daughter. $100 was nothing compared to that.

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As the man drove the taxi, Carla's gaze was fixed on the sheriff's car. She couldn't help but feel that he was involved in her mother's death. Firstly, he was insisting on Petra being behind Rosaline's death, and then cleaning the surfaces at her mother's house didn't show him in good light.

I will find out what you're up to, Sheriff. Carla promised herself. And I will do so soon.

"Wait, stop right here. Park behind one of the cars so he can't see us," she ordered the taxi driver as she saw the sheriff pull over in front of a modest home. The driver killed the engine, and she saw the sheriff get out of his car and enter the house's yard.

"That's his house," the driver's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Why are you following the sheriff?"

"How do you know that's his house?"

"I have lived in this town since I was a teenager, ma'am," he said. "And this is a small town. Everyone knows everyone."

Carla opened her purse and took out $200. "You never gave me a ride, and you never saw me doing what I'm going to do," she said, extending the money. "Is this enough for you to keep quiet?"

The driver accepted the money and nodded. Carla stepped out of the vehicle and told him to wait for her in case she needed his help again. "If I don't show up in 30 minutes, you can leave. I don't know how long it will take me," she instructed the driver, who nodded.

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Carla sneaked into the sheriff's yard. She had a hunch that he must be hiding some evidence in his home, so she decided to inspect the house. However, as she was heading to the front door, it suddenly flung open, prompting her to hide behind a tree in the front yard.

The sheriff's voice boomed from inside, and he soon stood on the front porch, talking to someone on the phone.

Carla's breath caught in her throat. Petra couldn't have…No, it can't be true. So the sheriff was trying to paint Petra as the killer? Why? Why would he do that to a young girl? Carla couldn't shake the feeling now that the sheriff was trying to manipulate the evidence to make her daughter look like a killer.

She waited behind the tree until he hung up and went inside. Once the front door slammed shut, she had an idea. She saw the lights go off in the house soon after, which meant the sheriff was probably going to sleep. This was the perfect opportunity.

She marched to the front porch and peered inside through the windows, but she couldn't see anything clearly. How do I get inside? She wondered, realizing the front door was locked.

Carla knew what she was going to do was wrong, but she had already done enough wrong when she decided to trespass on a police officer's property. She removed her hairpin and tried to pick the lock. She looked around to ensure nobody was watching her and kept going. A few turns of the clip….and click. The front door was unlocked.

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As she slowly stepped inside, careful enough not to make a noise, the door creaked softly. The living room was dark, so she pulled out her phone and switched on the flashlight. Carla had to be quiet and quick. After watching the sheriff get rid of the fingerprints at her mother's house, she was sure he would have hidden some evidence here.

She started with the living room shelves, trying to find anything that could lead her to her daughter. But nothing. She moved on to the cabinet next, and while she was checking it, her fingers brushed against something hard.

My baby girl. Carla's mind screamed now that the sheriff was a dangerous man. He had done something to her daughter. Maybe he had framed her kid just to keep his hands clean! Why else would he have Petra's phone hidden inside a cabinet at his home?

A voice inside Carla told her to burst into the sheriff's room and confront him right there. What had he done with his daughter? Where was her baby girl? But the sound of creaking wood distracted her. Someone was coming to the living room. Carla ducked behind the living room sofa and switched off her phone's flashlight, her hand held to her mouth in fear.

The footsteps seemed distant. Whoever the person was flicked on the light switch in the kitchen or one of the downstairs rooms because the space was no longer dark. Her heart racing, she peered out from behind the sofa and saw the sheriff. He was still in his uniform, drinking water in the kitchen.

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He was not asleep. What if he found her? Carla's nerves were on the edge. If he slumped onto the sofa and decided to watch the TV or something, she would be stuck until he was asleep. Carla's heart sank. She shouldn't have taken the risk.

But then her grip tightened around her daughter's phone, and every instinct in her screamed that she had done the right thing. Her daughter was out there in danger, and the sheriff had something to do with it! Carla's whole body shook with fear. She watched the sheriff turn off the lights and head to the front door. He eventually left the house.

She raced to the window and peered out from behind the curtains. He was getting in his car and going somewhere again! Carla waited until he started the car and left, then she dashed out the front door. She had just made it out of the yard when she saw the taxi driver was about to leave.

She waved an arm, asked him to stop, and hurriedly entered the car. "Follow him, please," she said breathlessly. "Thank God you didn't leave."

The driver started the car, and they were following the sheriff again. Carla wondered where he could be going at this hour. It would soon be midnight. What business was he taking care of so late at night?

Carla could hear her heartbeat in her ears; Her heart was racing so fast. She thought of her young daughter and how scared she must be wherever she was because Carla was sure now that her daughter was in danger.

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What if she was locked in a place where she was screaming for help that would never come to her? Strange suspicions and horrors flooded her mind as she watched the sheriff's car.

Carla didn't know where it would all lead her — whatever she was doing — but in her gut, she knew this would answer some of her questions. I'm sorry, Mom, she thought to herself at one point. Maybe I'm a terrible daughter. I'm only thinking about myself and Petra.

Carla felt guilty that she had been more focused on her daughter. Her mother was killed, yet she couldn't help but think only about Petra. But then, she knew that once she had found her daughter and proved Petra was not responsible for Rosaline's death, the cops would look at another angle, stop suspecting Petra, and try to find her mother's real killer.

Carla's thoughts were cut short by the sudden appearance of trees. She looked out the window. The urban landscape was fading, morphing into a sea of trees. The sheriff's car turned onto a dirt road, leading them into the woods. Carla's heart raced. She urged the taxi driver to pull over. As the car stopped, she immediately opened the door.

"I can't follow him in a car any longer," she said. "He might notice me. Here," she extended a couple of bills. "This is all I have. Thanks, you were a great help."

The taxi driver didn't accept the money. "Ma'am," he looked at her worriedly. "I wouldn't advise you to go in there alone. It's not safe at this hour."

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"I know, but I need to find my daughter," Carla insisted. "And if I die doing that, I won't regret anything. If I don't go after the sheriff, I will. Goodbye."

She left the money on the backseat and got out of the car.

"Take care," the driver advised her, and soon, he was gone. Carla took a deep breath and entered the forest. Her heart raced, wondering what she would do if she encountered a dangerous animal, but she had no choice. She had to find her daughter before it was too late. She treated cautiously through the forest, mindful of every step to avoid making a sound.

The trees overhead formed a natural canopy, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The silence of the woods was interrupted only by the occasional rustle of the leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. Carla didn't know if she'd ever find the sheriff as she kept walking through the forest.

The journey through the dense foliage indeed seemed endless. Twigs snapped underneath her feet, and following the trail of a car's tires, which she thought was Sheriff's, she kept moving forward. As she walked through thick bushes, some branches scratched her arms, causing a burning sensation from the fresh wound.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the bushes eventually gave way to a clearing. There, nestled in the heart of the woods, was the sheriff's car parked near an old, weather-beaten wooden house. He was removing something from the trunk, but she couldn't see what it was. Cans? She guessed.

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Carla crept behind a cluster of bushes, about 30 meters away from the house, and saw him head to the back of the house with the cans. Then he returned to the trunk and closed it. As he stood on the house's front porch, she saw him talking on the radio.

"I've found the suspect! I need backup! She attacked me!" he complained, feigning he was attacked. Carla's brows furrowed. What is he talking about? He's totally fine! Then, brandishing a gun, he unlocked the front door, and his tall figure disappeared into the shadowy interior.

Panic gripped Carla; her breath caught in her throat. Is Petra inside the house? What's really going on? Carla just couldn't wait. Her mind screamed her daughter was inside, and she crept into the house behind the sheriff.

Rage and fear surged through Carla as she spotted a vase nearby. She knew there was no time to lose. Without a second thought, she grabbed the vase, approached the sheriff stealthily, and swung it at the man's head, knocking the gun from his hands. The weapon sailed through the air, landing close to Petra.

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The sheriff spun around, blood trickling down his temple, and groaned in pain. Carla froze for a second. She didn't know what to do. His eyes widened in anger, and before she could act, he lunged at her, shoving her to the ground and choking her.

"You should've just forgotten about her!" he spat, his palms tightening around her throat. "Now I'll have to kill you both!"

"L-leave me!" Her voice croaked as she spoke. "Let me go!"

Carla tried to shove the man off her, but it was pointless. The sheriff was way stronger than her. Suddenly, Carla saw something from the corner of her eyes that gave her hope.

She spotted Petra crawling toward the gun and grabbing it. Carla closed her eyes. She didn't care what happened next. And it was then that a gunshot rang out in the room.

The sheriff's agonizing scream echoed through the abandoned structure, and his grip around her neck loosened. Carla opened her eyes, coughing and gasping.

Taking advantage of the sheriff's pain, Carla pushed the man off of herself and dashed to her girl. The gun lay beside Petra, having slid from her grasp, while the sheriff groaned in pain, clutching his injured arm.

"Oh honey, it's OK. It's OK," she cried. "I'm here now."

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She saw the sheriff trudge out the front door, but she didn't care. She tore off the tape across Petra's lips. Tears streamed down Carla's cheeks. She hugged her daughter close, thanking every force in nature that her daughter was saved.

Carla then tried to free Petra's hands, but they were cuffed, and the metal wouldn't budge.

"How did you even end up here?" Carla asked tremblingly.

"Mom, he killed Nana!" her daughter said, shaking from fear. "I saw him, Mom. He killed Nana…He said he wanted to be back together with Nana. Nana…she was in pain…Oh my God, Mom!" Petra hugged her, sobbing as she narrated what had happened.

It turned out Sheriff Rodriguez had visited Rosaline and confessed that he loved her and wanted to marry her. When Rosaline turned him down, an ugly argument ensued. Rosaline then went to the basement to retrieve something for the kitchen.

Fuming in rage, Sheriff Rodriguez followed her, and Rosaline threatened him to leave the house, pointing a knife at him. During their scuffle, while Sheriff Rodriguez was trying to disarm Rosaline, he accidentally ended up stabbing her. Petra witnessed it.

"He…He took my phone, Mom, so I couldn't call you. And Nana…I couldn't help Nana, Mom. I couldn't help her."

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Petra's confession made the hairs on Carla's back stand. For a moment, she felt like everything around her was a vacuum where she couldn't hear a word, and her past flashed before her eyes. Carla recalled her childhood days — when her mother used to talk about her father.

Carla snapped to the present when the smell of something burning reached her. She looked at the front entrance, her eyes wide open in shock.

"Mom, what are we going to do now? How will we get out?" Petra panicked.

The front porch of the wooden house crackled with flames as the sheriff, consumed by a twisted determination, set the structure ablaze. Smoke billowed and curled around the edges of the porch, swirling ominously.

Carla saw the sheriff and recalled him pulling out something from the trunk — gasoline cans. A shiver ran down her spine. She got to her feet and cried to the sheriff to help them. There was no other way out.

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But the sheriff didn't stop. He continued to pour gasoline around the house. Carla dashed to the front door, but the flames made her step back. Smoke had filled the entire room, and she and Petra struggled to breathe.

The sheriff, standing amidst the rising smoke, his face illuminated by the flickering flames, froze. Carla noticed that. His face twisted with shock, and the gasoline slid from his grasp and landed on the ground. She saw how he was regretting what he had done.

He mumbled something, and then she saw him take off his shirt. He tied it around his hand and swung it wildly to extinguish the fire. But there was no point. The flames were too intense.

But then he did something Carla would've never expected.

He covered himself with his shirt, shielding his face from the fire, and burst into the burning house. The fabric caught fire. He groaned from the pain of his gunshot wound and freshly burnt skin and knelt beside Petra, shaking.

"I'm sorry. I was out of my mind," he rasped, his hands trembling as he tried to unlock Petra's handcuffs. The metal finally gave way, and Petra's hands were freed. Sheriff Rodiguez scooped his granddaughter into his arms.

"I will come back for you, Carla. Don't worry."

Coughing violently, he stumbled out of the burning house, Petra cradled against him. A roaring blaze soon shattered the surrounding silence, fire spreading rapidly to the entire structure. Sheriff Rodriguez spun around.

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Inside, Carla coughed profusely, the smoke choking her.

Without caring about himself, he returned, half-blinded by the smoke, for Carla. But midway through the rescue, he almost succumbed to the smoke.

Coughs racked his body, and he faltered, falling to the floor. But he didn't give up. He had to save his daughter. He stood up again and finally emerged from the burning structure with his daughter. Carla didn't know what happened next.

Her eyelids closed against her wishes, and she fell into a deep sleep. The last thing she heard was her daughter's terrified gasp, and she knew she was in her father's embrace when everything around her went black.

The flashing lights of police cars and the distant wail of sirens filled her senses as Carla slowly opened her eyes. She squinted against the glare of emergency lights as her eyes adjusted to the surroundings.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock

"Mom! You're awake!" Petra's voice made her realize she was alive. When she attempted to move her fingers, they brushed against something hard. Carla discovered herself on the cold ground near the charred remains of the house.

Her head throbbed with pain, and she winced as she tried to sit up. "What…what happened?" she asked as a paramedic approached them.

"You're lucky to be alive. We need to make sure you're okay. Please come with me."

The paramedic led them to an ambulance, but Carla's eyes searched for Sheriff Rodriguez.

"What happened to the sheriff?" Carla asked the paramedic. "There was an older man with us. Is he alright?"

"They took him away, Mom," Petra sobbed before the paramedic could answer. "He…he died."

"He died saving you," Officer Cummins' voice distracted them.

The officer approached and told Carla what had happened.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

Sheriff Rodgiruez was found unconscious on the ground after rescuing Carla. When he briefly regained consciousness, he admitted to murdering Rosaline. However, while he was being transported to the hospital, he succumbed to his injuries and passed away.

"We did meet, but it was too late, Dad," Carla whispered to herself, her chest tightening.

The sky was clear, and the sun would soon rise, ushering in a new day.

For her, it would be the day she lost her father once again.

You saved us and regretted what you had done. But I can't forgive you for what you did to Mom, Dad. Carla thought sadly.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash

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