MM Fiction 🔞

The morning arrived like a dull blow. The room was dark, barely any light filtering through the curtains. My body ached – not from the beating, but from the tension that had lasted for hours. My hand still felt the dull resonance of the punch. The resistance of Uncle Zoli's face, the crack of bones beneath the skin.
I hadn't slept. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. The thoughts circled – the cemetery, the coffin, the lowering into the grave, then the kitchen, the punch, the blood. And my mother's face. That expression when I said it. When the words I had locked inside me for years were suddenly set free.
Grandma knocked, then opened the door. She brought a plate of warm porridge and a cup of tea. She set it on the nightstand. She looked at me. Her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying.
"You need to eat," she said quietly. "Even if it doesn't taste good."
I nodded. She sat on the edge of the bed. We were silent for a while. Then she spoke.
"Your mother is here. She's sitting in the kitchen downstairs. She hasn't slept all night."
My heart tightened. "What does she want?"
"To talk to you."
I didn't have the strength to refuse. I sat up and drank the tea. The porridge was sweet, but tasteless. Every bite had to be swallowed, as if it were stone.
When I went downstairs, my mother was sitting at the kitchen table. A cup of coffee in her hand, but the coffee had long gone cold. Beside her, an ashtray full of cigarette butts. My mother didn't smoke. Ever. Only when she was nervous.
She lifted her head when I entered. Her eyes were red, her face tired. But her gaze was different than before the funeral. Not the old, rejecting, fear-filled look. Something new was in it. Something fragile, but real.
"Can you sit down?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
I sat down across from her. Grandma stood by the stove, her back turned, as if she didn't want to intrude, but I knew she heard every word.
My mother was silent for a long time. Then she spoke.
"I knew."
I looked up. "What?"
"That Zoli... what you said. I knew. I didn't want to know. But I knew."
The words fell like stones. I looked at her face, the wrinkles deeper than I remembered. The dark circles under her eyes.
"Why didn't you do anything?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
My mother covered her face with her hand. Her shoulders shook. "Because I was afraid. Afraid I would lose you. Afraid that if I said it, everything would fall apart. That I would lose him too, and you too. That I would be alone."
"You would have been alone?"
"No. But I thought I would. I thought it was better to stay silent. That if I didn't look, it hadn't happened."
I stood up. The chair scraped against the floor. "But it did happen. And you let it continue."
My mother looked up. Her eyes were red, but her gaze was steady. "I know. And I will never forgive myself for it. But I'm here now. And I want you to know: I believe you. Every word."
I didn't know what to say. The anger was still simmering inside me, but beneath it, something else was beginning to stir. A small, fragile feeling I didn't dare call hope.
"So what do we do now?" I asked.
My mother set down the cup. "Whatever you need to do. I'm behind you. No matter what you decide."
In the late morning, Réka came. She knocked, then sat down next to me on the couch without a word. She put her hand on my knee, and we just sat there.
"What are you going to do?" she finally asked.
"I want to press charges."
Réka nodded. "I knew you'd say that. And you're right."
"But you said they'd take me in."
"I said they might. But if you don't do it, he wins. And you don't deserve to let him win."
I looked at her face. Her eyes were steady. "Will you come with me?"
"Of course."
The police station was gray and cold. The walls were worn, the air smelled of tobacco and sweat. A uniformed woman sat at the front desk, looking at us with bored eyes.
"Can I help you?"
"I want to file a report," I said, and my voice didn't waver.
They put me in a small room where a detective questioned me. He was young, around thirty, with tired eyes. He sat down across from me and placed a notebook on the table.
"Tell me what happened."
And I told him. Everything. The garden, the night, the threats. Then the funeral, the kitchen, the punch. The words came, easier and easier, as if a dam had burst. The detective didn't interrupt. He just took notes.
When I finished, he looked up. His face was expressionless, but his eyes – his eyes were not indifferent.
"Do you have any evidence? A medical report? A witness?"
"My mother heard it when I said it in the kitchen. And Réka – my friend – she knew about it too. I told her earlier."
The detective nodded. "We'll take your statement. And we'll look for the man."
I knew it wasn't a guarantee. I knew Uncle Zoli would deny everything. That maybe nothing would come of it. But the mere fact that I had said it – that it was now on official paper – was already a victory.
At the end of the day, I went to the cemetery alone. The grave was fresh, the flowers already wilting. I knelt beside the mound. The earth was cold and damp.
Tibor.
I didn't say his name out loud. Only in my thoughts. But I knew he heard me.
"I did it. What you would have wanted me to do. Now I know I have to move on. But I'm taking you with me. Everywhere."
I placed my hand on the earth. My eyes were dry. I wasn't crying anymore. The grief was there, deep down, but it no longer suffocated me. Now I could breathe within it.
I stood up. The sun had set, the cemetery was silent. I turned and walked toward the gate. My steps were steady. I left the past behind me – not forgotten, but processed.
At the gate, I looked back one more time. The grave was barely visible in the half-darkness. But I knew Tibor wasn't there. Tibor was inside me. And he would stay inside me.
As I stepped through the cemetery gate, the street lamps turned on all at once. The yellow light painted a golden path on the sidewalk. I started walking along it. I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But I knew that whatever came, I would never be a victim again.
And that was the first step toward healing.

– End of Chapter XV –