We moved to this apartment when our darling daughter was about of six years. Lavish never could be the word to describe it. Comfort was sublimely present. But it exactly was what we could call – Home.
We had a lot of dreams surrounding our daughter and we were ready to turn all the stones to bring those dreams down to reality. Our conjugal relation, probably, was passing through its sweetest time as we had passed the cloudy days of struggle. Everything was so promising, so inspiring, so picturesque.
It was the night of her seventh birthday when we witnessed the murder and the murderers.
We were living in utmost fear knowing that those goons will not let us move around loose for long, until the night they entered our apartment, forcefully.
We tried to explain our incompetency about telling about that nightmare to anyone. But, without wasting their energy in listening or speaking, they opened fire.
I could not know, how our princess charming reacted when the first bullet touched her tender flesh.
I could not know, how my afraid-of-everything wife shouted when she was shot.
I could not know, how did they look like as dead.
We could not know, how did they dissected our bodied during post-mortem, had there been any.
We could not know, how our parents thought of living the rest of their lives.
But, I know, we know that we are not going to leave this apartment, our home. Ever. Never.