the signs???

... How did I miss the indications? What were those signs? How could I have been unaware that this was looming on the horizon? As a mother, why couldn't I shield my daughter from this horrendous ordeal? These questions have been haunting me relentlessly since that tragic night. Sophie had been grappling with depression, a fact we were aware of. We conversed about it to some extent, but I lacked the expertise and was wary of exacerbating the situation. So, I encouraged her to speak with a trained counsellor in Leeds. Additionally, she maintained bi-monthly interactions with a nurse, and she was prescribed antidepressants.

Back at home, we had organised an evaluation of Sophie's mental well-being. She confided that she felt positive and believed she was making progress, hence she was reluctant to meet with the assessor. I insisted, explaining that depression comes with its good and bad days, and this could just be one of the better ones. She complied and eventually received an appointment the outcome was she needed to see a psychiatrist, scheduled for weeks later — unfortunately, it arrived the day after we lost her.

Sophie had been contending with difficulties related to the people she would share accommodations with during the upcoming university year in Leeds. I aided her in extricating herself from that arrangement and finding a new place with delightful roommates. She appeared content and joyful after completing her university term for the summer. Sophie and I engaged in numerous conversations during this time; she relished the rural life and felt at peace. She had initiated positive changes in her life in the weeks leading up to the tragedy, made plans for holidays, and we even brought home a puppy, which she adored. Life seemed promising. Her progress was palpable, and I genuinely believed she was overcoming her struggles. So, signs? I can't identify any, honestly.

In my assessment, what transpired that night was a hasty response to a distressing phone call, orchestrated by someone with malicious intent to fracture our family. I sense that Sophie aimed to shield her parents from the agony she believed she was inflicting upon us. She internalised the blame. I also suspect she felt powerless to improve her circumstances. How I wish I had the chance to convey that we could have worked through it together. She knew how immensely proud I was of her journey thus far — I reiterated it often. However, this final chapter wasn't meant to unfold that way.

On that Sunday, I spent the entire day with Sophie. We shared laughter and made plans for the future. She harboured aspirations and dreams. That's why I am convinced that Sophie didn't commit this act. It was as though a malevolent force had infiltrated her thoughts. I've replayed that night countless times in my mind, yet the answers remain elusive.