Her mother was lying facedown in the kitchen with blood stains all around the the tiles. Yet there was no sign of breaking into the house. No sign of self defense. No witnesses. No proof.

Namitha had returned late that night. She was so drunk that she slept off without seeing her mother. After all, the drinks were to forget the quarrel they had earlier. She woke early the following morning barely remembering how she got to bed. Desperately in need of a glass of water, she slowly staggered to the kitchen. 

Her mother was dead. Soaked by a pool of her own blood. 

Namitha was suddenly sober at sight. The police took the matter serious for five days alone. The case was forgotten after that, like the murderer had bribed the police. They had to face real crimes. Or so they said. As if a mother's death is such an irrelevant case.

Namitha refused to accept it that way.

"The murderer is still out there", she'll whisper to herself, as if saying it will change any fact.

She wrote a list of suspects. Her mother's ex, an awkward neighbour known for rage and even her uncle who threatened then once because of property ownership. Namitha wasn't a detective but the rage she felt made her one. 

She secretly searched phones. She snook up on people. She even hurled a glass of wine on her uncle at a Diwali dinner, accusing him of the murder to know if he'll somehow open up. She filed several other cases but they were all sealed up due to her actions no involving the police. 

"Namitha you're affecting your mental health", her aunt once told her, "you need help".

No one could relate to what she was going through. No one could hear what she heard at night. The supposed cinematic fall of her mother after being stabbed that night.

It wasn't until 2 months after the funeral that she found it. The proof. The evidence. The old CCTV camera she never remembered to reinstall on the wall after it fell off. It had been on the kitchen shelf by a dusty Ganesh idol image in the kitchen. Unknown to everyone, it never actually disconnected from it's power supply. 

Her hands shook vigorously as she replayed the footage. Blurred from the dust but very much still visible. Her mother, upside-down due to the camera's position, stepped out of the video frame and came back with vegetables and began chopping them. 

It was 12:04 am. Then her mother turned after the door opened and continued with the vegetables. Namitha wondered who it was her mother was so calm to see walk in by that time. 

She stared closely to know if the person will enter the footage. Just then, someone stepped in drunk, took a knife and stabbed her mother then left. 

She could barely breath anymore. 

She watched herself holding a kitchen knife in the footage. She didn't scream or cry. She collapsed to the floor. There was just silence after the footage ended. 

The murderer she has been searching for, the criminal who deserves to pay for the blood stains all around the kitchen. It her.

Just a few moments lost to alcohol and everything she ever had was gone. She didn't feel worthy of being a daughter anymore. She could barely remember anything and yet she'll never be able to forget.

Namitha didn't turn herself in to the police. Not because she'd have loved to get away from the crime. She just couldn't find the right words. How do you explain to the world that the murder you assaulted people for actually owes it's occurrence to you?

She deleted the footage. Not for denial though. But she'll never be able to delete the guilt and memory.