After my sister killed herself, she left a final note. Everyone who read that note died. First, it was my grandmother. Then my father. Finally, my mother leaped from the thirtieth floor of a skyscraper. Reporters scrambled over each other to interview me. The police interrogated me through the night. Countless people wanted to know what that final note said. I remained silent. Until the tenth anniversary of my sister’s death, when I saw a figure standing before her gravestone. In that moment, a thrill shot through me. I knew my time had come, too. … My sister, Lily, died the day before school started. She jumped from the sixteenth floor of our apartment building. Her head was twisted to one side. There wasn't much blood, her small body just curled in a dark pool on the pavement. But the truly unsettling thing was the expression on her face. She was smiling. A collective gasp went through the crowd as they saw it. On her young face, that smile was tinged with a strange, venomous cruelty that didn't belong to a child. It made the hair on your arms stand up. My mother’s cries were ragged, broken. My father, a man who had stood straight and tall his entire life, seemed to collapse into himself, lighting one cigarette after another in silence. The police officers offered their condolences while going through the motions. "If there's a suicide note, we can close the case." So we searched Lily's room. Grandma was the one who found it. The note contained a single sentence. She held up the piece of paper, her face a mask of pure shock. Then, she let out a shattered cry. "Oh, my sweet girl…" Her reaction left us stunned. My father took a step forward. "Mom, what does it say? What were Lily's last words?" Grandma gave us one long, deep look, then decisively threw the paper to the floor. Before anyone could react, she wrenched open the window, climbed onto the sill, and jumped. A fresh bloom of red spread on the concrete below. Grandma's body lay next to Lily's. And on her face, too, the corners of her mouth were turned slightly upward in a smile. After Grandma's death, my father, trembling, picked up the note. As he read it, the color drained from his face. He clutched the paper to his chest, refusing to let anyone else see it. No matter how much the police pressed him, he said nothing. After the funeral for my sister and grandmother, we returned home, exhausted to the bone. My mother, her eyes swollen and red, finally broke. "What did Lily's note say? Why did your mother kill herself after reading it?" Dad was silent, finishing his last cigarette. He looked as if he had aged decades in a few days. "Don't ask again. From now on, we act as if it never happened." His voice was gravel. "And no one is to mention Lily's name ever again." Mom's tears were all cried out. Her voice was a raw rasp. "Lily was my daughter, too! Don't I have the right to know her last words? David, if you do this, Lily will hate you for it!" I thought my father was being cruel, too. "Dad, we're her family. We have a right to know what she said. And Grandma… why would she just look at a note and—" He cut me off with a raw violence that startled me. He slammed his fist against the wall, his eyes bloodshot. "I told you, the note said nothing important! You don't need to know!" When he mentioned his mother, his voice choked. The grief was there, raw and real. But then, as if remembering something, he shut his eyes tightly. "Your grandmother… she was old. Confused. Maybe with Lily gone, she just didn't want to live anymore." "That's enough," he said, his tone final. "We are not talking about this again. The matter is closed." He retreated to his room, refusing to utter another word about my sister. But I couldn't stop thinking about that note. I had to know what Lily's last words were. My mother felt the same. Three days later, my father drank himself into a stupor and passed out on his bed. Seizing the opportunity, Mom searched his pockets and found the folded piece of paper. She opened it with trembling, eager hands. And then she froze. I watched her expression shift dramatically, a storm of emotions passing over her face. "Mom, what is it? What did Lily say?" I asked, my own heart pounding with anxiety. She didn't answer. She just stood there, staring at the paper as if she’d seen a ghost. I couldn't stand the suspense. I moved to snatch the note from her hands, but her reaction shocked me even more. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. She looked at me, her gaze vacant, filled with a bottomless despair. Then, she crumpled the note into a tight ball and stuffed it into her mouth. "Mom, what are you doing? Spit it out!" I screamed, grabbing her arm. "Don't swallow it!" But it was too late. She swallowed. She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Claire," she whispered, "you must never, ever know what this sentence says." I stood there, paralyzed, unable to comprehend the demonic power held in that single sentence. Why did it make everyone act so strangely? Grandma had read it and immediately taken her own life. Just then, my father sat up in bed. He had been awake the whole time, watching us from the shadows. He let out a long, weary sigh, and then a strange, broken laugh. He looked at my mother, his eyes dark and hollow. "Laura," he said. "Now you're living in hell with me." My world was spinning. I couldn't understand how everything had fallen apart so quickly. A month ago, I had a happy, perfect family. During the summer break, Lily and I would lounge around the house, watching movies, playing games, reading comics together. My parents were not only in love with each other, but they adored us. In twenty years of marriage, they’d never had a major fight. Grandma, though old, was the kindest, most loving woman I knew, always sneaking us candy and pocket money. Just last night, she was talking about making us her special pot roast. In just a few days, everything was gone. My sister was dead. My grandmother was dead. My father had become a drunk, and my mother was now a stranger to me. My world had collapsed. And in the ruins, one question echoed: What was written on that note? The next day, the police came back. My parents were gone, so I was the one who had to speak with them. "Did your sister show any signs of depression recently?" the lead detective asked. "Bad grades, a fight with you or your parents, a breakup?" I wracked my brain but shook my head. Lily was a genius, always top of her class. She was sweet and obedient; my parents doted on her. A breakup was out of the question. She was only in seventh grade. The police were stumped. "What about your grandmother? Did she ever express suicidal thoughts? She saw the note and jumped immediately. What did that note say?" At the mention of Grandma, tears burst from my eyes. Lily's death was a tragedy, but Grandma's… that was a trauma seared into my memory. I had watched her fall. I was sobbing too hard to speak. The officers, seeing my state, ended the interview. They closed the case, officially ruling Lily's death a suicide due to academic pressure. They had only just left when they came rushing back. The detective, a man named Miller, looked at me, his expression grim. He struggled to find the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Claire… try to stay strong." "We just got a call. Your father, David… he… he jumped from the bridge into the river." My blood ran cold. My body began to shake uncontrollably. They took me to the riverbank. It was cordoned off with white police tape. The onlookers watched as I was escorted through, their whispers following me like ghosts. "That must be the daughter. She looks just like him." "What could be so bad that you'd leave your own child behind?" "I heard his other daughter killed herself. He probably couldn't take it." "But he had another one, right? How could he just abandon her?" Their words were like daggers. I couldn't believe it. My father, who was terrified of water, had chosen to drown himself. Detective Miller put a hand on my shoulder and showed me a video on his phone, taken by a bystander. I saw my father park his car, get out, and sprint to the railing of the bridge. Without a moment's hesitation, he vaulted over it. The churning river swallowed him in an instant. He didn't know how to swim. He was terrified of water. There was no chance of survival. I covered my mouth, a strangled sob escaping my lips. In a few short days, I had lost my sister, my grandmother, and now my father. I collapsed onto the ground, my world shattering into a million pieces. Detective Miller knelt beside me, his face stern. "Claire, I know this is hard, but you have to pull yourself together. Right now, your sister's note is the key to all of this. You have to tell us what it said." I was on the verge of a complete breakdown. I clutched my head and screamed. "I don't know! I really don't know!" If I could, I would have given anything to know. Just then, my mother arrived. She took in the scene, the police, the river, and accepted the news of my father's death with a terrifying, serene calm. She stood at the river's edge and answered the detective's question.
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