He entered the room.
I took the pill.
Darkness.
The next morning, once I was alone, I locked myself inside and started the recording.
At first, everything looked normal.
I was lying there, asleep.
Minutes passed.
Then the door opened.
He walked in slowly, approaching the bed with measured steps. He sat beside me, silent, watching.
I froze as I stared at the screen.
He leaned closer… and gently brushed my hair.
The gesture looked almost careful—almost kind.
But something about it felt wrong.
His expression.
The way he watched.
The stillness in the room.
I wanted to stop the video.
But I couldn’t.
I kept watching.
He stayed there for a long time, as if studying something only he understood.
And in that moment, a realization began to form—slow, heavy, undeniable.
This wasn’t about helping my father.
This wasn’t about a simple agreement.
It was something else.
Something deeper.
My hands shook as the video ended.
But one thing was clear.
I couldn’t stay there any longer.
I gathered my things quickly—documents, phone, anything essential. The contract no longer mattered. Whatever I had agreed to meant nothing if I stayed and lost myself completely.
I waited.
Watched from the window.
The moment his car disappeared beyond the gate, my chest tightened with fear.
Because I knew—
I only had one chance.
I moved quietly, every step careful, every sound too loud in the silence. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would give me away.
But I didn’t stop.
I opened the door.
And ran.
