Body found confirmed to b
They opened the door and stepped straight into horror.
Six bodies. Two children. A “sea of blood” so shocking that hardened Chicago officers stopped cold.
No warning. No mercy. No answers.
He now wakes up in a city that feels like a stranger.
The walls of his small apartment are bare, but his mind is overcrowded: the sound of his children’s voices, his partner’s last smile, the way the front door used to click shut.
He replays that final morning on a loop—coffee, a rushed goodbye, a promise to be home for dinner—as if noticing one different detail might pull them all back.
Detectives still call occasionally, their voices careful, practiced, offering updates that rarely mean progress.
Neighbors have moved on, though they lower their voices when they pass the old house.
For him, time has split in two: the life before the sirens and everything after. Justice, if it ever comes, will not restore birthdays or bedtime stories.
He carries a quieter, heavier sentence—learning how to keep loving people who no longer answer when he whispers their names.
