Chapter 1

My family died because of a single sentence.

They all killed themselves, one by one, after reading a note left by my younger brother, Jayden.

First, my grandpa. Then, my dad. And finally, my mom.

I am the only one left.

Now, I am the keeper of that sentence, and it has become the purpose of my life.

I have to make the man who caused all this suffer.

The story started ten years ago, on the last day of summer vacation.

It was supposed to be a normal day.

The sun was bright, the sky was clear, and the air was warm.

Then we found Jayden.

He had jumped from the roof of our house.

He was lying on the lawn, his body twisted in a way that wasn't natural.

But the most disturbing part was his face.

He had a smile.

It wasn't a happy smile, it was serene, almost peaceful.

Like he was finally free.

That smile was the first crack in my world.

It was the beginning of the end.

My mom started screaming.

Her cries were raw, tearing through the quiet morning air of our suburban neighborhood.

My dad, Matthew Hughes, a man I had never seen cry, stood frozen. His face was a mask of disbelief.

The police arrived, then the ambulance.

Their procedural calm felt alien against our family' s shattering grief.

Detective Morris, a man with tired eyes and a rumpled suit, started asking questions.

"Did he seem depressed? Was he having trouble at school? Any arguments with friends?"

My parents just shook their heads, unable to speak.

Jayden was perfect.

He was a gifted musician, a straight-A student. He was the son every parent dreamed of.

There was no reason for him to do this.

Then, one of the officers found the note.

It was a single, folded piece of paper tucked into the back pocket of Jayden' s jeans.

The officer handed it to Detective Morris.

My grandpa, Grandpa Stevens, a retired Vietnam vet who rarely showed emotion, snatched the note from the detective' s hand.

"He was my grandson," he said, his voice raspy.

He unfolded the paper.

I watched his face as he read.

His tough, weathered features went slack. The color drained from his skin, leaving it a pasty gray.

His eyes, usually sharp and clear, filled with a horror I had never seen before.

He whispered my brother' s name.

"Jayden."

It was a sound of pure despair.

Then he did something strange.

He carefully folded the note, walked past all of us, and went straight to the garage.

I heard the old car start.

The engine rumbled, a low, constant noise.

No one thought anything of it at first. We were all lost in our own shock.

It was the smell that alerted us.

The sweet, sickening smell of exhaust fumes.

My dad was the first to react. He ran to the garage and threw open the door.

A thick cloud of gray smoke poured out.

Grandpa was sitting in the driver' s seat of his old Ford, his head leaned back against the headrest.

The note was on the passenger seat beside him.

His eyes were closed.

And on his face, there was a faint, unsettling smile.

Just like Jayden' s.