Death-Knock

Have you ever had the happiest day of your life shatter into the most painful?

That’s what happened to me.

I was glowing with excitement for my parents’ anniversary. Light makeup, a swipe of eyeliner, nothing heavy. I never needed much. Mom always said eyeliner alone made my big blue eyes stand out.

Blue eyes.

The only ones in my family.

Everyone else - Dad, Mom, Brian - had brown eyes and brown hair.

Mine? Blue as the ocean. White hair, like snow.

Anyway, I’d been saving for months, giving tuitions since my fifteenth birthday. And finally, I had enough to give them my first real gift: a portrait painted just for them.

I twisted in front of the mirror, brushing down my frock and smoothing my hair one last time before rushing out.

Elizabeth, the artist, turned the canvas around.

“Oh my God... It’s beautiful!” I gasped, hands to my chin, eyes wide with awe.

Elizabeth was indeed the most amazing artist in our town, and the politest as well.

Clutching the portrait, I raced home, heart pounding with excitement. It wasn’t even that big - I could carry it easily.

“Mom! Dad! Look what I got you!” I beamed, holding the painting to my chest.

They came down the stairs from Brian’s room, smiling, unaware that this moment, right here, would be the last time we were ever the same again.

“Oh my God, this is beautiful, sweetie!” Mom rushed over. I quickly set the painting on the table, because I knew what was coming. An emotional, tight hug from both my parents.

They pulled me in. Arms wrapped around me.

Across the room, Brian gave me that sheepish smile. He’s a year older - my best friend - and I knew exactly why he looked like that.

He hadn’t gotten them anything. *Spent his money paying a fine for fighting at his new school.*

“This is from me and Brian!” I grinned.

Brian scratched the back of his neck, then joined the hug. Our parents reached out and pulled him in, too. Group hug complete.

Our family was perfect. We always had each other’s backs--school, life, love.

Speaking of love, I hadn’t found anyone worth my attention. Not the way Sarah had Brian’s. I figured I still had time.

Anyways, as always, we kept things simple for their anniversary. Movie night. Just us. Pizza, popcorn, soft drinks--nothing fancy.

Dad was always busy, so we made sure this one day stayed ours.

Brian had done the decorations. Mom and Dad cut the cake. The movie was picked. We were ready.

Just one thing missing--pizza.

While Brian went to the kitchen to grab popcorn and drinks, the doorbell rang.

“That must be the pizza! Zee, can you get that?” he called out.

I hopped off the sofa and headed for the door, smiling.

As soon as I opened the door, I froze.

A boy stood there. White hair. Golden eyes. And... a gun.

I didn’t speak, but God knows how terrified I was. My hands trembled.

“Get your father,” he said. His voice was low, too heavy for someone his age.

“Who are you?” I asked, and immediately regretted it. His golden eyes darkened, blazing with rage.

“I said get your father!” he snapped, jaw clenched, every word like a threat.

I didn’t want to call Dad. Something deep in my gut screamed not to. But fate doesn’t ask for permission.

Before I could move, Dad appeared behind me. “Who is it, Zinnia?”

Then he saw him, and went pale. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low, shaken.

His eyes flicked to me. There were tears, but nothing behind them. Just emptiness.

“Go inside,” he said.

“I’m not leaving you--” I started.

“I promise he won’t hurt me. Just go.”

Something in his voice made me obey.

I ran to Mom and Brian. We stayed in the kitchen, clutching each other, frozen. Their voices came through, muffled--but sharp enough to hear the pain.

“How could you do that to me? I trusted you!” the boy yelled, his voice cracked and furious.

“Listen, boy… please, put the gun down. Let’s get out of here and talk,” my dad pleaded, calm but desperate.

“Why? So you can throw me back into the dark?” the boy snapped. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Just hear me out… then say whatever you want,” Dad urged again.

A tense pause. Then, the sound of the door opening and locking.

For a moment, we thought maybe things were okay.

Then the gunshot rang out.

We bolted to the door--it was locked from the outside. Brian slammed into it, breaking the latch. We burst out.

And my world collapsed.

Dad lay on the ground, blood flowing through his shoulder. I dropped to my knees as he reached up, his fingers brushing my face.

He was alive--but barely. I gripped his hand, sobbing, while Brian called for help.

In the ambulance, he clutched my hand weakly, urging me closer. I leaned in, heart pounding.

“Don’t report this… please… it wasn’t Liam’s fault,” he gasped.

“What? What do you mean?” I cried, not understanding.

He pulled me closer again.

“He’s your brother… he always protected you… now, it’s your turn…”

And just like that, his hand slipped from mine.

“Dad! Dad!! No--” I screamed, and then everything went black.

I fainted.

I never thought I’d lose him. He was my anchor… and now he was gone. I knew I’d never move on. But I could honor his final wish.

When the sheriff arrived to investigate, he came straight to us.

“Can anyone tell me exactly what happened?” he asked.

Before anyone else could speak, I stepped forward. “We were coming home when a thief tried to snatch my phone. My dad tried to protect me, and the thief shot him… then ran.”

A lie. One that burned in my throat. But I had no choice.

Brian and Mom stared at me, stunned, tears in their eyes, betrayal in their silence. I could hear them screaming inside: *How could you? How could you defend his killer?*

And honestly? I was asking myself the same thing.

“Did you see his face?” the sheriff asked.

“No. He wore a mask… like most robbers do,” I said, wiping away tears that wouldn’t stop.

He nodded. “You can go.”

As we drove, I felt Brian’s gaze stabbing me from the rearview mirror. Mom stared blankly out the window, crying softly, never stopping.

There was a rule in our house: if we disagree, we talk at home. No fighting. Never in public.

That rule shattered the moment we walked through the door.

Questions flew. Voices rose. Brian yelled at me for the first time. Mom tried to reach me gently… but even her touch couldn’t break through anymore.

I felt dead.

Curled on the sofa, tears streaming like a flood--but my lips stayed sealed, my tongue heavy like stone.

Because how could I give something I didn’t have?

I had no answers--not to their questions, not to my own.

That day, I didn’t just lose my father.

I lost my home.

The house was still standing, bricks and beams all intact… but inside? Just three strangers under one roof.

We stopped eating together. If I sat at the table, Brian would quietly pick up his plate and walk away.

Did it hurt? Hell yes.

The pain was unbearable.

Our home, once filled with laughter and warmth, was now just echoes. Echoes of grief, guilt, and shattered bonds. Echoes of questions left to rot. Echoes of hearts torn open.

I am Zinnia James Paragon.

And this… this is where our story begins.