He had great parents and friends who always stood by his side. They cheered him on, saying, “You can do it. Don’t give up.” His life was far from perfect, but it was warm. Safe. Full of love.
But not every story is meant to be a happy one.
Everything changed during his sophomore year. One quiet evening at home, Isaiah watched his world shatter as his parents were brutally murdered—right in front of him.
And the one who did it?
His geometry teacher. Mr. Wilson.
A man with a wife and two children—a son in seventh grade, and a daughter in Isaiah’s class. A man who once smiled at him in the halls, who handed him graded tests and told him to “keep trying.” That same man was now forever burned into Isaiah’s memory, grinning as he stabbed his parents without mercy.
Isaiah told the police everything.
“Sir, it was Mr. Wilson. I saw him kill my parents with a grin on his face! He has a history with them—he went to the same school! Please, sir, believe me!” he cried out, desperation flooding every word.
But the officer’s reply made Isaiah’s heart drop into his stomach.
“Son… the suspect’s family said he was home last night grading y’all’s tests.”
Isaiah froze. The air felt heavier. The world began to spin.
“No… no, that’s not right! I saw him! He was in my living room—stabbing them! I can even tell you what time it happened!”
His knees gave out. He collapsed, trembling, unable to process the weight of betrayal.
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Then he heard that voice—the one he never wanted to hear again.
“Isaiah, why are you accusing me of something so terrible? I was at home… grading tests.”
Isaiah looked up, his breath caught in his throat. Mr. Wilson approached with a calm smile, crouched beside him, and pulled him into a hug.
“Dear Isaiah, I know it must be hard… but maybe you’re confused. Maybe it was someone who looked like me.”
Isaiah wanted to scream. To shove him away. The man’s touch made his skin crawl. He knew every word was a lie. But he was frozen.
Then, in a low whisper, right against his ear, Mr. Wilson said something that turned Isaiah’s blood cold:
“Shut it, kid. You want your precious friends to die too? Even if you put me in prison, I’ll get out. Then I’ll come for you. I’ll make you watch as I stab your kid, then I’ll rape your wife in front of you—slowly—before killing her too. So keep your mouth shut, understand?”
Isaiah tore himself from the embrace, panic roaring through his chest. He turned to the police officer with dead eyes and a shaky smile.
“…Sorry, sir. I… I might’ve been mistaken. It was dark. I couldn’t really see the killer’s face.”
The officer blinked, surprised, but nodded.
Mr. Wilson’s hand landed on Isaiah’s shoulder.
“See? All you had to do was think clearly.” Then, again, the whisper: “Good boy. Let’s forget this little misunderstanding, okay? Back to normal.”
Isaiah swallowed the rising bile in his throat and forced himself to respond.
“Of course. I’m sorry for accusing you, sir.”
Mr. Wilson chuckled. “It’s alright, Isaiah. Just remember the lesson you learned here. Never forget it.”
He turned, waving goodbye with that same disgusting grin.
Isaiah stood there, his fists clenched, body trembling, soul crushed. He turned back to the officer and forced out one more lie.
“…Thank you, sir. Next time… I’ll bring real evidence. Please catch whoever killed my parents.”
The officer gave a sympathetic smile and patted his head. “You’ve been through a lot, son. Don’t worry—we’ll catch the guy. You have my word.”
Isaiah smiled back. A fake smile. “Thank you, sir.”
He left the station in silence.
As he walked home alone through the quiet streets, all he could do was replay the nightmare in his mind, wondering where everything had gone so wrong.
When he finally reached the front steps of his house—the same house where it all happened—he stood still for a long moment, staring at the door. Then he took a deep breath, reached for the handle, and opened it slowly.
“I’m home…” he whispered.
But deep down, he knew—he would never really be home again.