For the past three months, every night I have been smelling a strange smell. It’s not a typical body odor. It was like the smell of mold mixed with a strong, pungent smell clinging to the blankets, to the bedsheet, and especially to the part of the bed where Christopher was sleeping.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the door before slowly turning my gaze toward the bedroom.

My heart started beating faster.

An idea formed in my mind, and in that moment I knew I could not ignore it anymore.

“Something is wrong,” I whispered to myself. “I need to know the truth.”

I dragged the mattress into the middle of the room, my hands trembling as I reached for a box cutter. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before pressing the blade against the fabric.

The moment I made the first cut, a strong, foul odor burst out and hit me in the face so violently that I had to cover my nose and cough.

My heart pounded harder as I cut deeper into the mattress, pulling the fabric apart while the smell grew stronger. The foam began to spill out, and then I saw it.

Inside the mattress was not a dead animal or spoiled food like I had feared.

There was a large plastic bag, tightly sealed, its surface already covered in mold.

My hands shook uncontrollably as I reached for it and slowly opened it. The smell of mold and damp paper filled the room instantly, making my eyes water as I forced myself to continue.