I opened my eyes again and saw my familiar home, still untouched by the fire that would later destroy it.
Downstairs, I heard my uncle, my aunt, and my mom chatting.
I didn't need to guess their purpose. They came for money. Their visits to ask for cash over the years were too many to count on both hands.
Every time, my mom handed over the money, even though it vanished like water, never to return.
My dad, always busy with work and earning well, left household matters to my mom.
Year after year, half of my dad's earnings passed through my mom's hands to my uncle's family.
Whenever my uncle ran out of money, he came to my mom, and she gave it to him without question.
In a way, my dad supported two families single-handedly.
Even so, my uncle's family was never satisfied, like a bottomless pit that consumed everything.
Worse, they were an ungrateful bunch. My mom even let their son bully me and my younger brother.
Still, she forbade us from saying a single bad word about my uncle.
Later, when my uncle was scammed and left penniless, my mom suggested using my brother's surgery money to bail him out.
When that didn't work, she allowed my uncle to set our house on fire, burning us alive, staging it as an accident to claim insurance money. She even wrote a letter forgiving him.
My brother, my dad, and I burned to death in our home, while the murderer walked free with the money from our deaths.