The Murder of daughter by their jealous son

The Murder of daughter by their jealous son

She never cried in front of them

just folded towels with trembling hands

kept her voice polite and low

wore long sleeves, even in July

He was the golden boy they said

the one with charm and easy grins

but rage runs quiet in some homes

and fists can land like whispers do

She’d been the youngest, gentle, still

the one who brushed their mother’s hair

who baked the bread and cleaned the floors

who smiled too much for his liking

He’d slam the door and bruise her arm

call it games or temper flares

and no one asked or looked too hard

because bruises fade and girls lie

When she was gone, they found her room

a cardigan stiff with blood at the cuff

notes she wrote that no one read

photos where her eyes looked elsewhere

The coroner wrote it plain and cold

death by punches to the head

and I remember her silence loud

and the way she flinched at shadows

Mother lit a candle, slow

her hands too old to shake by then

said she always knew she’d lose the girl

but never guessed to what

And he stood quiet by the wall

not weeping, not ashamed

his fingers wrapped around a glass

as if it never happened

The police arrested him for his sister’s death

the mother never forgave him, not even on her last breath

So she and the family mourned the loss of two not one

They never mentioned the sons name again

for what the bastard had done.