Echoes of Lorenzo

I had just walked out of the police station. I hadn't expected it to take this long. Sure, the detectives seemed convinced that I wasn't involved in Lorenzo's death, but the fact that I worked at Orion made the investigation far more complicated.

The questions kept coming—similar in essence, different in wording:

"Why did you decide to visit your ex-husband at that particular time?"

"Did you know the victim was on the list of potential criminal offenders?"

"Did you tell him? Did you warn him?"

That last question was the focal point. It came in various forms, as if they were trying to find a single crack in my story. I didn't understand at first why they were so insistent on whether I had spoken to Lorenzo or not—but I was ready.

Whenever the conversation touched on Orion, I stuck to a single sentence:

"My job at Orion does not give me access to the direct list of potential offenders."

It was a lie, of course.

Still, I didn't feel afraid when I said it. I was confident that the police had no internal data on Orion's system, and no real way to verify my claims.

After leaving the station, I noticed my phone was full of missed calls. All from an unregistered number. As I stared at the screen, the phone started ringing again—it was the same number. I decided to answer.

"Hello?" I said.

A girl's voice replied on the other end:

"You bitch. It was your fault… You're the reason Lorenzo killed himself! Tell me—are you happy now?"

I recognized the voice. She was one of Lorenzo's college acquaintances. I had met her a few times in the past, before the divorce.

Her name, as far as I could recall, was Nihal.

So I replied, "I'm sorry, Nihal, but I can't continue this conversation like this."

She paused for a moment, then shouted louder than before:

"Noha! My name is Noha. You stupid bitch! You murderer. You're speaking so calmly, as if your husband didn't take his life because of you!"

She sounded like she was about to continue screaming, so I ended the call.

There was no logical reason for her anger, just because I got her name wrong. The last time I spoke to her was two years ago.

Though the situation rattled me, I kept walking home.

There were so many questions spinning in my head:

Why did Lorenzo kill himself?

Was the classification accurate—was he truly a potential criminal?

Did he intend to hurt someone?

And if so, why didn't he follow through—why end his own life instead?

But more than anything else… what consumed me was the company itself.

Two questions haunted me:

First: Was the Orion logo really on Lorenzo's screen, or was I imagining it? Why the hell would the Orion logo appear on that screen? That makes no sense. It should be impossible.

And second—more importantly: What was I going to tell the company?

They would find out. That much was certain.

And I had already violated one of the strictest policies in the company: Never attempt to contact anyone flagged as a potential offender.

Violating that policy meant one thing… termination.

And unlike with the police, I wouldn't be able to lie this time and claim I didn't have access to the direct list.

Maybe, just maybe, I could lie and say I didn't know he was on the list. That I had only visited to check on him.

But the chance that anyone would believe that… was slim to none.

I finally reached my apartment door. I decided to postpone all these thoughts. I needed just one thing: rest.

As someone once said—though I don't know who—

"If you're going to do something, do it right."

And that's exactly what I intended to do: rest, and nothing else.

I collapsed onto the couch without even bothering to change out of my clothes and shut my eyes.

But there was one thing still bothering me.

My phone, still in my pocket, kept vibrating—it was on silent mode.

I pulled it out.

Same number again… That girl: Noha.

I didn't want to answer, so I tossed the phone away.

But even from across the room, the vibrations continued to irritate me.

I was genuinely upset.

After everything I'd been through the past two days, this girl simply refused to leave me alone.

Isn't it reasonable for a person to want a moment of peace?

I was exhausted. I deserved rest.

Didn't I?

No—actually, why was she even calling me to insult and humiliate me?

Who does she think she is?

Even if I was the reason Lorenzo killed himself, that doesn't give her the right to invade my space and unleash her rage on me.

And not just rage—she cursed me too?

No. I wasn't upset anymore.

I was angry.

Furious.

I stood up from the couch, grabbed my phone with a tight grip, and said:

"Listen carefully, you filthy rat. If you call me again… I swear you'll regret it."

But the voice on the other end replied,

"Raya?... Sorry, were you talking to me?"

What the hell? I thought.

I wished the earth would open and swallow me whole.

It wasn't Noha. I knew that voice…

It was Mary Taleb—Lorenzo's mother.

I stammered into the phone:

"No, no, no. I'm sorry. I thought… I thought it was someone else. I'm truly sorry."

There was a long silence. Then I heard her exhale before she finally spoke again:

"It's all right… I just wanted to make sure you'll be attending tomorrow."

Attending tomorrow? I didn't understand what she meant, but I didn't want to admit it. So I said,

"I'm just not quite sure about the location, ma'am."

She replied,

"Oh yes, it will be at our house. You still remember where it is, don't you?"

So that's what it was—Lorenzo's memorial.

I had expected Mary to be furious with me, yet here she was, inviting me to her son's wake.

But tomorrow?

I worked at Orion. I'd already taken one day off without permission.

Still, I couldn't say no—not after she invited me.

So I said,

"Of course. I'll be there. Thank you so much for calling, ma'am."

The next day, I decided to attend Lorenzo's wake.

I planned to stay for just an hour before heading to work.

Wakes don't usually start at an exact time, so I figured I'd go at 9:00 AM. My shift started at 11:00, and if traffic was kind, I could make it without being late.

I arrived at the Taleb family house on time.

It was one of the rare homes in the city—two stories tall, meant for a single family. Though it looked like something from another era, I couldn't help but envy anyone who lived there.

Most of the city's population now lived in towering apartment complexes due to overcrowding, but the Talebs were among the lucky few.

Speaking of luck—mine seemed good too. There were only a few cars parked along the street, which meant not many people had arrived yet.

I stepped inside.

As I expected, the house wasn't crowded. Soft mourning music played in the background, and what caught my attention most were the photographs on the walls.

Pictures of Lorenzo—some from his childhood, others from his teenage years, and even some that looked quite recent.

I still hadn't seen Lorenzo's mother, Mary, anywhere.

That was both good and bad.

Bad, because I wanted her to see that I had come—to know I paid my respects.

Good, because… I wasn't ready to face her yet.

What if she was angry? What if she only invited me here to shame me in front of everyone? It would make sense, wouldn't it?

More guests began to arrive.

I could feel their eyes glancing at me now and then.

Then finally—while I stood there pretending to admire a picture of Lorenzo—I saw her.

She was standing beside the old woman who had escorted me to Lorenzo's apartment two days ago.

To a stranger, it might've looked like the elderly woman was Lorenzo's mother, and Mary just another mourner.

But the opposite was true.

The elderly woman wept uncontrollably in Mary's arms, while Mary herself stood tall and composed, comforting her.

At that moment, Mary and I locked eyes.

I froze.

I was genuinely terrified. I wasn't ready to face her.

Unlike Noha—whom I could handle—Mary was different. She had always been kind to me. I couldn't bear the thought of her blaming me.

But as if she had read my mind, she gave me a faint, exhausted smile.

She nodded ever so slightly, as if to reassure me.

I understood the gesture. It was time to approach her.

As I began to walk toward her, she whispered something in the elderly woman's ear, and the woman quietly stepped away.

Now we were alone.

I looked into her tired face, but no words came out.

I silently begged her to speak first—to set me free.

But she didn't say anything either.

She just looked at me, and I felt like I was standing trial… waiting for the executioner's verdict.

But there was no verdict.

Instead, she opened her arms wide and pulled me into an embrace.

I felt the warmth of her body—it melted something inside me.

I wrapped my arms around her tightly.

It felt… comforting. Safe. I didn't want her to let go, so I held on tighter.

I began to feel her breathing intensify, and I heard her soft cries against my shoulder.

In that moment, I felt true sorrow.

Yes—even though Lorenzo was my ex-husband, I still mourned him.

And I was exhausted.

So very exhausted.

I began to cry too.