CHAPTER 3

REIYAL’S GRIEF

The mortuary of Stalen Hospital is cold and silent, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant and something heavier, unspoken. The clock on the wall reads 2:00 PM, but time feels frozen.

Nazia sits on a hard plastic chair, Reiyal still clinging to her, arms wrapped tightly around her grandmother’s waist, face buried in her chest. Nazia’s fingers stroke Reiyal’s hair, her own heart breaking with every shuddering breath the girl takes.

Grenard stands stiffly beside a metal stretcher. On it lies a body, covered head to toe in a crisp white sheet. The shape beneath is unmistakably human, but utterly still.

Reiyal’s sobs are the only sound in the room. Finally, she lifts her head, eyes red and swollen, voice trembling. “Grandfather… is this… my mom?” Her question is barely a whisper, but it fills the room.

Grenard can’t bring himself to speak. The sight of Reiyal—her hope, her fear—is too much. He simply nods, his jaw clenched, eyes damp.

Slowly, Reiyal disentangles herself from Nazia. Her legs feel weak as she approaches the stretcher. With shaking hands, she lifts the edge of the sheet, peeling it back just enough to see.

Nicole lies there, lifeless. Her eyes are closed, lips pale, skin almost translucent. A deep, brutal wound mars her chest—evidence of violence no child should ever witness.

Reiyal’s breath catches. For a moment, the world stops. Then, a wail tears from her throat. “MAA! MAA! NO, NO, MAA, PLEASE GET UP!” She throws herself onto the body, clutching her mother, shaking her, begging her to wake up. “Maa, say something! Maa, please! Maa! Maa!” Her cries are raw, primal, the sound of a soul being ripped apart.

Nazia turns away, unable to watch. She isn’t crying for Nicole now, but for Reiyal—for the unbearable pain radiating from her granddaughter. “Grenard, take her away. I can’t bear to see her like this,” she pleads, her voice breaking.

Grenard feels the same. He steps forward, his hands gentle but firm as he tries to pull Reiyal away. “Reiyal, Nicole is gone,” he says, his voice thick with grief.

Reiyal whirls on him, eyes blazing. “Shut up! My mother is NOT dead!” She points a trembling finger at him, defiance and denial twisting her face.

Grenard has no choice. He lifts Reiyal into his arms, her small body thrashing, fists pounding his back as she screams, “No! No! No!” He carries her out of the mortuary, Nazia following, her own tears falling silently.

Back in the hospital ward, doctors and nurses rush to help. Grenard lays Reiyal on the bed, but she fights, lost in her anguish. Nurses hold her arms and legs as the doctor prepares a sedative. With a quick injection, Reiyal’s struggles weaken, her cries softening into whimpers, then silence as sleep claims her.

The doctor turns to Grenard and Nazia, his expression grave. “Her condition is fragile. Don’t tell her yet that her mother was stabbed—it could break her completely.”

Grenard and Nazia exchange a look, hearts heavy. They nod in silent agreement, standing vigil over the sleeping girl, their own grief a silent storm beneath the surface.

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