The Son of my Tragedy

Aria Bello hummed as she walked down the marble hallway, sunlight filtering through the tall windows. Her 22nd birthday was only two days away, and she felt lighter than she had in weeks. “Mom! Dad!” she called, peeking into the living room. Her parents were talking in hushed tones, faces tight with concern. Aria lingered by the door, pretending to look at a painting. She heard muffled voices. “No, I told you already. We don’t have it.” A pause. “Threats don’t scare me. You know I won’t hand it over. Not to you. Not ever.” He dropped the call. Her mother’s voice joined in softly, anxious. “This is getting scary…I think we should turn it in to the police” Her father responded, ‘We must keep it safe, he’s not the type to go down easily’. Aria’s heart skipped. She had no idea what they were talking about, but she felt it in her chest—the weight of something dangerous, hidden in plain sight. She frowned. “What’s going on?” Her father, Robert, quickly smiled. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just work.” Her mother, Elena, offered a small smile too, but her eyes didn’t quite meet Aria’s. “Yeah, just work. Don’t worry about it.” Later that evening, her parents asked gently, “Aria, how do you want your birthday to be?” Aria smiled, trying to ignore the tension. “Just… normal. With both of you. No big parties, no stress. Just us.” Her father nodded. “That’s exactly what we’ll do. We promise.” Her mother squeezed her hand. “We’ll make it special. Just you, us, and a little magic.” Her birthday finally came. That morning while she was still in bed, she heard a knock on her door. “Happy birthday, Aria.” Her father’s voice was soft, steady, familiar. She opened her eyes to see him standing by her bed, holding a small cupcake with a flickering candle. “You’re too old for this, Dad,” she mumbled, though she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re never too old for a wish,” he said, “and besides, this is tradition.” She pushed herself up, hair messy from sleep. “Make it count,” he added. Her mother leaned in from the doorway. “You two started without me?” “You were taking too long,” her father teased. Elena laughed, pressing a kiss to Aria’s forehead. “Twenty-two. My baby is getting old.” “I’m not old!” Aria protested. “Old enough to start learning about running a company with your father,” her mother joked. Aria groaned. “Please, not today. Today I’m off duty.” “Fair enough,” her father said. “Today, you’re just our daughter.” The day passed in warmth and laughter. Flowers, messages, and small gifts arrived. By evening, the mansion glowed under soft lights. The dining table was set beautifully, and a small cake waited in the center. After the cake was cut, her father’s phone rang again. He glanced at the screen, “I’ll be back,” he said calmly. Her mother’s eyes followed him with concern. She whispered something to herself, then excused herself quietly, following him. Aria’s curiosity pricked. She tiptoed down the hallway. Voices drifted from the study, the door slightly open. Her father’s voice was firm. “Stop calling me, you stole from the company and you must be responsible for it.” “Then your family will pay,” the cold, calculated voice replied. Her mother whispered, “They won’t stop. Maybe we should move it.” “No. It’s safer where it is. No one would think to look there. And Aria… she doesn’t know anything. And she mustn’t.” Aria pressed herself against the wall, heart racing. Move what? Hand over what? Moments later, they emerged, smiles carefully restored. “Business?” Aria asked lightly. “Always,” her father replied. “But enough of that.” Her mother clapped her hands. “Time for your real gift.” A small velvet box. Aria raised a brow. “Jewelry again?” “Open it,” her mother urged. Inside lay a delicate gold necklace, a smooth teardrop pendant. “It’s beautiful,” Aria said. Her father clasped it around her neck. His hands lingered on her shoulders, grounding and warm. “This is special,” he whispered. “Keep it close. Always.” Her mother smiled softly. “It represents protection. And our love.” Aria hugged them both tightly, wishing she could freeze this moment forever. For a little while, everything felt safe. Night fell. Rain began tapping against the windows, soft at first, then heavier. A steady rhythm that filled the silence. Aria entered her room to pick up her phone but it wasn’t there. Then, she remembered—she had left it in the garden after taking birthday photos earlier. A flicker of the generator confirmed the power was fine. But the quiet felt wrong. Too quiet. She stepped out of her room. “Mom?” No answer. Worried, she walked into the garden to grab her phone. Then—the front doors slammed open with a deafening bang. Rain poured through the open doorway. Her heart nearly jumped from her chest. Voices, deep and harsh, echoed. “Search the house. Find the memory card.” “Where is it? The memory card. Now.” Her father stepped forward instinctively. Calm, but the tension coiled in his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There is no memory card here,” he said evenly. The man sneered. “Don’t lie, Robert. We know it exists. Hand it over, maybe your family walks tonight.” Her mother gripped her father’s arm. “You won’t find it,” she said firmly. “We won’t let you have it.” Another intruder stepped forward, gun raised. “Enough games. You cooperate, you live. Refuse…” “Refuse, and what?” her father shot back. “You think we’re afraid?” The leader’s grin was cruel. “Bold words. Desperate men die for nothing. You’re about to find out.” Her mother’s eyes darted to a small cabinet. “It’s… hidden. You’ll never see it.” “Don’t tempt me,” the man hissed, gun twitching. “One wrong move and—” Her father didn’t flinch. “You’ll never find it. Tell him to prepare for what happens next.” The leader’s voice dropped to a hiss. “Get it. Or leave them in pieces.” Aria couldn’t breathe. She pressed herself against the wall, unable to tear her eyes from the window. The men pushed forward. Commands, shouts, the shuffle of boots against polished floors. Then a sharp sound split the air. A gunshot. Her mother screamed, muffled by the distance. Another shot. Her father fell. Aria’s knees gave way. She stumbled back. Her mother crouched beside him, eyes locking on hers. No words. No screaming. Just a movement. A small, urgent shake of the head. Her mother’s lips moved silently. Aria… Run.