The Fridge That Rot, The Promise That Rotted Too Chapter 09

The Fridge That Rot, The Promise That Rotted Too Chapter 09

After the funeral, the house turned to ice.

Dad moved into my room and spent every day staring blankly at my toys.

He stopped going to the office, stopped going on business trips, and drowned himself in alcohol,

In the middle of the night, he would sit up in the dark and replay that last phone call on his phone,

over and over.

Mom’s spirit broke completely.

She stopped sleeping. She wandered the house all night.

She would fill the fridge with fresh food, then sit on the little stool behind the door and talk to the

air.

“Pearl, when you’re hungry, take from the first shelf. When you’re thirsty, drink from the second.”

“Mom isn’t leaving this time. Mom isn’t going anywhere.”

She checked the circuit breaker constantly, turned the faucets on and off, opened the fridge again and again to make sure the food hadn’t spoiled. Dozens of times a day.

Sometimes she would burst into Serena’s room and drag her out of bed.

She would grab Serena by the arm and ask, her eyes unfocused:

“Serena, did Mom kill Pearl?”

“Tell me-did Mom kill her?”

Serena would tremble, shaking her head frantically.

She was pushed to the edge of collapse.

She didn’t dare go out, didn’t dare look at her phone, didn’t even dare look at herself in the mirror.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw me curled up in that rotting vomit, staring at her with

hollow eyes.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

She spent her days curled in the corner of her bed, gnawing at her fingers until they bled.

Winter arrived.

The wind howled outside, but inside the house, it felt even colder.

Dad was drunk again.

He staggered out of my room, an empty bottle in his hand.

“Pearl… where’s Daddy’s Pearl…”

He let out a burp and shuffled toward the living room, steadying himself against the wall. His foot kicked a toy block. He bent down and picked it up, gripping it so hard his knuckles went white.

Mom hadn’t slept in three days.

She sat on the floor beside the fridge, opening and closing the door, again and again.

Each time she opened it, she touched the inside to feel the temperature.

“Still cooling… not broken…” she murmured, pulling out the newly bought containers one by one.

“Enough for five days, six cartons of milk, four bottles of water…’

She counted them once, then again.

When she reached the seventh count, Dad stood in the kitchen doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Mom didn’t look up.

She placed the containers back on the first shelf and the water on the second.

“I’m preparing Pearl’s food.”

The bottle slid from Dad’s hand and shattered on the tile floor.

“Pearl is gone.”

Mom’s hands froze.

She knelt in front of the fridge, her shoulders beginning to shake.

“I know.”

Her voice was so soft it was nearly swallowed by the wind.

“But I can’t stop. If I stop, I keep thinking-was she like this in her last few days? Crouched in front

this fridge?”

“Was she forcing herself to swallow the food, even after smelling that stench?”

Mom’s fingers dug into the cracks of the tile, her nails splitting, blood seeping through

“She was so obedient. I said eat, so she ate. Even when it was rotten and foul, she still ate.”

Dad stood in the middle of the broken glass and didn’t move.

Serena’s bedroom door was open a crack.

She hid behind it, hearing every word Mom said.

She hadn’t left her room in three days. The floor was littered with torn scraps of paper.

Her Stanford acceptance letter had been ripped into pieces the size of fingernails.

The first day of college had already passed two months ago.

The school had called several times, but she never answered.

She closed the door, locked it, slid down to the floor, and covered her ears.

But Mom’s voice still seeped through.

“She died holding my coat… she died smelling my scent…”

Serena bit down on the back of her hand, leaving deep teeth marks.