I was in a rage and shouted, “You killed my daughter! I'm going to kill you!”
If the police officer hadn't held me down in time, I really would have jumped on him and bit his throat.
“I'm sorry, madam. I'm really sorry.”
The driver was biting his lips tightly. His face was pale. His eyes also looked like he had been crying.
“Is it useful to be sorry right now? Why aren't you paying attention when you're driving? Why are you rushing up to a green light on the sidewalk? Please tell me all the reasons.”
“I am not…”
The police officer suddenly spoke, “Mrs. Arabelle Moonstone, that's why we're looking for you today.”
They gave me something. It was a tablet. The tablet then was handed to me.
“We found out that the driver who ran over your daughter was also a victim. There was a red Mustang at the scene.”
In my heart I said, ‘What? There is a red Mustang?’ My heart thumped. ‘Wasn't Maximilian also driving a red Mustang?’
The surveillance video showed that the accident happened just as school was dismissing at 5:30. The boarding school students were out looking for food.
Vilhelmina's figure quickly appeared in the camera. She looked small and fresh. She was chatting with a friend in front of the school.
Vilhelmina was about to go back to the cafeteria to eat. She suddenly turned around and jogged across the street.
While running and waving, she seemed to see someone familiar. At the same time, a red Mustang appeared on the driveway.
It was Maximilian's license plate number. But the person sitting in the passenger seat was Kimberly Beadsworth.
I clenched my fists. My heart felt like it was in my throat. The red Mustang stepped into the gas and still didn't catch the green light.
At this time, Vilhelmina began to walk the crosswalk and the accident of the truck should be parallel without intersection. But the red Mustang suddenly accelerated through the red light. The truck in order to avoid quickly turning the front and out of control. Then the truck hit Vilhelmina on the zebra cross.
It turned out that the murderer who killed her daughter was Maximilian Kostomarov.
I realized that Vilhelmina should have seen his father's car. So she wanted to go over. It made her not think that his father would miss the work time and rushed back to the hospital clock.
In the video, Vilhelmina's body was hit and flew up. She rolled under the wheels of the truck and was crushed several times. The red Mustang was riding so fast that it had no idea what was happening behind it.
Across the table, the driver of the truck covered his face. He cried out in pain. I stared at the black screen of the tablet with a dull expression. Until the police officer tapped me on the shoulder.
He reassured me of my condolences. I touched my face, not a single tear. My heart was empty as if a piece had been ripped out of it.
“We will send more people to find the owner of this red Mustang, Mrs Arabelle.”
I replied, “Don't bother, I know who he is.”
“Who is it?”
“My husband, Maximilian Kostomarov. He is also the biological father of the victim, Vilhelmina Kostomarov.”
The policeman was stunned for a long time. “As a relative of Vilhelmina Kostomarov, we have to ask your opinion as a rule.”
I answered, “How the law is set, just do what you guys do. Don't need to consider my relationship with the perpetrator. You also don't need to tell him the identity of the victims.”
***
That night, while my husband, Maximilian, had not yet returned home, I began to pack my bags. The doorbell suddenly rang. It was the postman, who came to deliver the package. I opened it to find that it was a children's book. Two months ago, Vilhelmina secretly told me the truth.
Vilhelmina said, “Mom, the essay I wrote was selected and the teacher said it would be published in the next issue of Sunrise.”
Her little face was full of pride at that moment. Meanwhile, I was so happy and grateful.
“Really?” I wrapped my arms around my daughter's neck and kissed her fiercely. “Our Vilhelmina Kostomarov is awesome. You are the pride of Dad and me, my love. But can you not tell Daddy yet? I want to send the book to him when it's published. We can give him a surprise.”
At this moment, I flipped through the magazine. I then found the essay written by Vilhelmina Kostomarov titled 'My Doctor Dad'.
