REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS - Chapter 83: Chapter 83

A few days later. Weekend.
I was sitting cross-legged on Mylene’s sun-warmed balcony, a half-finished sandwich in one hand and my phone in the other, when the alert popped up.
Local News - Ruins Rescue: Woman and two men found in faked vault by local teens.
I snorted so hard I nearly inhaled a slice of tomato.
“Guys,” I said, wheezing as I scrolled. “She’s out. Dorothy and her Carl entourage were rescued.”
Mylene didn’t even look up from her sketchbook. “Define rescued.”
My daughter Maya looked at me in the eye doubtfully while she played Roblux from her iphone.
I flicked the volume on and let the reporter do the honors.
“—three teenage boys exploring the historic ruins for their urban explorer YouTube channel stumbled upon muffled screams and followed the sound to uncover what officials are calling a highly theatrical entrapment scenario. Authorities say the individuals were disoriented, dehydrated, and visibly rattled by what they described as—quote—a haunted stone tomb of emotional torture.”
I burst into a full laugh, cheeks bulging with sandwich as crumbs rained down my shirt. “Oh my god—emotional torture—they put that in the report?!”
Maya looked at me over her cat-eye glasses. Judging. Always judging. Her lips pursed like she was physically restraining the urge to roll her eyes into another dimension. “You are so going to hell, mommy,” she muttered, but there wasn’t any real venom in it. Just that quiet disapproval she wore like lip balm.
Meanwhile, Jhing Jhing, perched beside me in a hoodie two sizes too big, clutched her tea with sparkly eyes. “You’re a legend,” she whispered, reverent. “An actual goddess of petty justice. If I ever get betrayed by an ex-best friend, I’m calling you first.”
I toasted her with my sandwich crust. “I take payment in salted caramel donuts and dramatic backstory.”
Mylene sighed. “You literally left her in a fake vault with whispering speakers and voice overs from people she ghosted.”
“She ghosted them emotionally, Mylene,” I argued, grinning. “That kind of haunting writes itself.”
Jhing Jhing leaned forward, wide-eyed. “Wait, were the voices really edited to sound like ghost echoes?”
While the kids played dollhouse, we played death trap.
I nodded. “Triple-layered. Joe mixed in old Gregorian chants under Alec’s voice for texture. Very ‘Vatican disappointment’ vibes.”
Maya stood, grabbing her cold decaf-white coffee. “Mommy, you’re all unwell. All of you.”
But I caught her smirking just before she turned away.
I went back to the article.
Apparently, Dorothy’s scarf was found tangled in a ventilation grate, and Carl (the original) had developed a mysterious fear of sandstone. They were all transported to the nearest hospital under psychological observation—because, according to the report, they were “unable to determine whether their captors were real, mythological, or products of internal guilt spirals.”
Carl 2 cried during the intake. The nurse gave him a juice box. Dorothy demanded a PR agent. She got a therapist instead.
I laughed so hard my sandwich finally gave up and slid out of the bread entirely.
Aliya offered me a napkin with the quiet adoration of someone watching a Disney villain win for once. “Mommy, did you win the lottery again?”
“No, dear. Mommy is just happy.” Not a lie.
Mylene returned with her coffee and finally asked, “So what’s the plan now, Cruella?”
I grinned. “Oh, I don’t know… a swim, some chips, maybe a duck boat ride named after shattered egos. And if Dorothy ever crawls her way back into society, well—she can have her redemption arc. But I’m keeping the soundtrack rights.”
Aliya raised her cup. “To salty snacks and emotional comeuppance!”
We clinked mugs, and as the sea breeze swept over the balcony, I knew one thing for certain:
Dorothy had survived the vault. But she’d never survive the group chat.
The next day—Sunday.
The air smelled like overripe mangoes and fabric softener. The neighborhood dogs were unusually quiet, probably hungover from barking at the moon. It was the kind of Sunday that felt like it came with background music—something soft and suspiciously spiritual.
Jhing Jhing had gone to church with her entire family, all decked out in pastels and hair gel. I’d seen the group photo on her story: her dad clutching a book like a weapon, her mom looking holy and slightly murderous, and Jhing Jhing herself holding a baby cousin like a live grenade. Divine peace.
Mylene, on the other hand, was deep in the trenches of Used Car Marketplace, hunting for a vehicle big enough for her, her kids, her bags, her mother’s bags, and the emotional baggage she refuses to unpack. She kept sending us van links and asking if “this one screams respected mom of twin but also lowkey hot or just I surrender to domesticity.”
But there was a deeper reason for her car hunt: her husband—yes, that husband—the quiet soldier stationed in Afghanistan, was coming home for vacation. The news came through a choppy international call at 3 a.m., and she hadn't stopped panic-cleaning since.
Meanwhile, I was on the couch, stuck in Mom Lecture Mode.
Maya sat across from me on the floor, rolling her eyes at a frequency that could power a lightbulb. She was twirling a pen and pretending to listen while I gently tried to explain taxes, emotional maturity, the dangers of dating men who say “trust me,” and why you should never sign anything you haven’t read—even if it’s from your favorite K-pop merch site.
“Being an adult means making choices,” I said sagely. “And then suffering the consequences quietly while binge-eating spicy noodles.”
Maya snorted. “So basically, adulthood is just being tired and overthinking.”
“Yes,” I nodded. “But with better shoes.”
Off in the corner, Aliya and Jaya were playing Pretend Detective Agency. They were both wearing sunglasses indoors and speaking into spoons. Jaya was trying to interrogate a stuffed panda, while Aliya insisted the panda was innocent but knew too much.
Then—my phone buzzed.
Joe.
Of course it was Joe.
“Hello?” I answered, stepping out onto the balcony with a view of nothing in particular except laundry lines and one aggressive crow.
His voice came through, casual and weirdly calm. “Hey. Remember that old campsite on the mountain?”
I blinked. “Yeah? The one with the fog, the broken thermos, and that raccoon that stole our chips?”
“Yeah, that one,” he said. “You guys found something then. A weird bone, remember?”
We did. Of course, Mylene couldn't stop talking about it. I remembered Mylene poking it with a stick and declaring it was from a giant wild pig, while Jhing Jhing insisted it looked “way too humanoid to be casual.”
“Well,” Joe continued, “it’s not a pig bone. Or a prank. Or an overgrown dog femur.”
I leaned on the balcony railing. “Okay… so what is it?” I know what it was, from the looks of it, besides the CSI guys already guessed it at that time.
There was a pause.
“It’s a child’s femur. Roughly 15 years old. Female. Forensics confirmed it yesterday. It's a DARROW.”
Everything slowed down for a moment.
“What?” I whispered. A Darrow?
“There’s going to be a full investigation. The forest’s under lockdown. They might want to talk to you and the girls,” Joe added. “Keep it quiet for now. But I figured you should know.”
Inside, Maya called out, “Mom, Aliya just accused Jaya of being part of an underground crime ring—”
I waved her off, suddenly cold. My mind spun through memories of that trip: the fireflies, the tangled trail, the fog that came in too fast, and that one moment when all three of us stood silent, staring at the odd shape half-buried in moss.
I’d joked it was a fairy tomb.
But now…
Joe’s voice broke the silence. “You okay?”
I exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” I lied. “I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t.
Because that wasn’t just a weekend memory anymore.
Now, it was a murder mystery.
And somewhere out there… someone else remembered that mountain, too.