Dusk had begun to creep in when Maria sent her daughter off to a medical lab. She wanted the girl far off from her outrage. Reports had come from one of her neighbours down the street— the 12-year-old might be with child.

The fear of doing something she might regret kept her boxed like a late Christmas gift.

Her pride took an unexpected blow, and her flawless image was next.

When the test results returned negative, she was relieved. One hurdle was crossed, but her worries hadn't assuaged.

In a last-minute vigilante set-up, she handed the girl into her neighbour's attentive care every time she worked overnight.

Maria never expected that her daughter's nightmare was living under that roof.

That evening when she met the girl by the house, just across the gutter, her control snapped.

Past bitterness rushed into her blood stream. The stress at work, her waning patience with the  girl's rumoured promiscuity were contributing factors.

Her bare hands landed on the girl's trembling body. In her rage, Maria didn't mind her soft cry. The subdued voice that kept telling her she was innocent. 

Then she saw the red dots. They were all over her clothes. With dread tugging at her heartstrings, she pulled up the girl and met a heavy patch of blood. At first, it appeared like her period. 

Her eyes went adrift, and nestled on the bruises of her struggle.

" Sweetie," she called tenderly, hugging the girl's limp body.

" Say something. Please. Just say something." She  pleaded, voice rising in distress.

Silence stretched the corridor between them. From that position to the hospital, Maria held her breath.

She heard the doctor sigh. The look in his eyes were both pity and criticism.

She shook her head. Trudged towards the lifeless body, and gave her a gentle shake. But she was gone.

Camera footage was pulled by the police. Her role in the girl's death was inarguable. But something else broke her.

Maria trembled on her toes at the scene from the footage. Her eyes widened, crimson red. 

It was none other than the same man who brought the rumour to her doorstep. The man she handed her daughter to.

Maria recalled the girl's hesitation. Her pleading eyes. How she had wanted to say no, but feared her mother's rage.

He was apprehended. Maria met him, and her voice carried her grief.

" Why?" Her lips parted, parched with thirst. Within her was a fire that consumed her heart. To Maria, the man might have raped her daughter but she took the girl's life.

She couldn't go on living. But if she was leaving, she would take him with her.

Before the police could rush over at the sight of the gun, Maria released a shot at  him and placed the gun on her forehead. With a soft smile, she pulled the trigger.

The news spread abroad.  People blamed her for her child's death, but the police officer handling her case had a different view.

" It could have been any of us," she said to her colleague. “ We can not judge her. Instead, we must learn from her experience.”