Mom

"Mom, Nanda leave first," I said to the mother who was turning her back on me, watching TV. The show had finished and the lights were out.

Not getting an answer, I immediately went out of the house and closed the door slowly, not forgetting I had locked it.

I rushed to run and stopped at the fork. I reached into my pants pocket and called the police at that moment.

"Hello, please, in my house there is a stranger coming in...," I reported carefully before the policeman said he would arrive in a few minutes.

I knew it was a mistake. I was living alone two years ago when my mother was killed by a truck, so I pretended that the person in the house was my mother.

Shortly afterwards, a message came in. I rushed to read it, hoping it was a message from the police.

(You know, my son)

I swallowed saliva when I found out that this was my mother's old number. Reflexively, I turned towards my house on the other end, and saw the "mother" who saw me with a butcher knife in the second floor window.