PART 2
The paramedics arrived quickly. Within minutes, both of my parents were loaded into ambulances. At the hospital, doctors worked frantically. Hours later, one finally emerged. “Both are alive,” he said. I nearly collapsed with relief.
Then he continued, “We believe they may have consumed a dangerous amount of sleeping medication.” The relief vanished. Someone had given my parents sleeping pills. And enough of them to nearly kill both.
The police immediately began asking questions. Who had access to the house? Who had keys? Who had visited recently? At first, none of it made sense. My parents didn’t have enemies. They were the kind of people who lent tools to neighbors and remembered everyone’s birthdays.
But the questions kept coming. And soon, so did the answers. A week later, Michael returned to the house to collect some personal items. That night he called me. “Come home,” he said. His voice sounded strange. Controlled. Serious.
When I arrived, he was sitting at the kitchen table with Kara beside him. A laptop sat open. “There’s something you need to see,” he said. He explained that while checking the porch, he had found the memory card inside my father’s old doorbell camera. The app had stopped working months ago. But the camera had continued recording locally.
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