After a long day of work, all I wanted was to get home, take a hot shower and rest. It was just any afternoon, of which fatigue weighs more than anything else.
However, from the moment I parked the car in front of the house, I felt that something did not fit.
The porch light was on, though no one used to leave it like that. The front door was barely ajar, moving slowly with the wind. I thought maybe my wife had been out in a hurry or that one of my children had forgotten to shut her down.
I came in calling their names.
No one answered.
The silence was strange.
I didn’t listen to the television, music, or the sound of dishes in the kitchen. Just the ticking of the dining clock.
I left the briefcase on the floor and walked around the room.
Everything seemed to be in place... until I saw a family photograph lying face down on the table.
I picked her up and noticed that the frame was broken.
I felt a knot in my stomach.
I climbed the stairs more and more worried.
Our room was empty.
The bed was still perfectly laid out, but the closet was open and several drawers had been checked.
I immediately thought of a robbery.
I took out the phone to call my wife, but at that moment I heard a noise coming from the basement.
My heart began to beat strongly.
I took a flashlight that was in the hallway and slowly went down.
Every step creaked under my feet.
When I got downstairs, I saw a small cardboard box on a table. Above there was an envelope with my name handwritten.
I opened it nervously.
There was only one sentence inside:
“Before drawing conclusions... open the door to the bottom.”
I took a deep breath.
