hapter 10%
‘Samira is dead? No. It doesn’t feel real. None of it does.I
Jean’s mind went blank the moment he saw the body. It didn’t even look like her. Just a lifeless, stitched–up figure laid out under harsh morgue lights. Not whole. Not Samim!
He didn’t go in. Just stood there at the door, staring like the ground might swallow him whole. “No.” he muttered, shaking his head. “No… this isn’t real. This can’t be happening.”
He turned away, stumbling like a drunk and slammed into the doorframe on his way out. The jolt didn’t even register
That was when he saw Miranda, sitting on a bench just outside. She was a mess; eyes swollen, nose red, sobbing so hard her shoulders
shook
She looked up and saw him and all the heartbreak turned into rage.
“She went into that alley alone, Jean!” she cried. “Do you know what they did to her? They out her up, piece by piece! Do you have any idea what that must’ve felt like?
Jean stood frozen, still not fully processing.”
“If it weren’t for you, if you hadn’t hurt her yesterday, she wouldn’t have left early. She wouldn’t have gone there! She was sad and she was alone and you let her walk away!”
Miranda’s voice cracked, guilt flooding in. “Or maybe it’s on me. I brought her to the party. I should’ve known better.”
But Jean couldn’t hear a word. “She’s not dead,” he said softly, almost to himself. “You’re all lying. Samira is at home. She’s waiting for me. I have to go.“I
Then he turned and walked out, ignoring everything behind him.
Back at the house, it was dark and empty. Too quiet. Jean called her name, again and again, checking every room, every shadow. Nothing All he could hear was his heartbeat, loud, fast, panicked. He rushed to his desk, turned on the security footage, praying. Maybe she came back when he was gone.
But no. She left the house yesterday. She never came back. His phone rang. He snatched it up, hoping. It was Miranda again.
“Jean,” she said, her voice like a slap, “are you really going to keep running away? How did I end up with a son so afraid to face the truth?” That was it. The final blow. Later that day, he went back to the police station. This time, he didn’t stop at the door
He forced himself to look. To really see. It was Samira. She was still wearing the dress from the party. Tom, dirty, soaked in things he
didn’t want to name
Jean’s legs buckled the second he saw her. He hit the floor hard but barely noticed. His eyes were locked on Samira, what was left of her. laid out on that cold metal bed.
He reached out slowly, like he was afraid she might vanish if he moved too fast and wrapped his fingers around her hand, the one dangling off the edge. It was cold. Too cold. His breath hitched and then the sob tore out of him before he could stop it.Ɛ
“I’m sorry. Samira… I’m so damn sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking as he hunched over her hand. “This never should’ve happened, if I’d just if I hadn’t said those things yesterday, If I’d taken you home when I had the chance I
His voice faded into a pained silence. All he could feel now was the crushing weight of regret.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, kneeling on the morgue floor, clinging to her hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Everything else had collapsed.
Eventually, he forced himself to stand. It felt like moving through water, like every part of him resisted the idea of letting go. He reached out again, gently brushed her fingers.
“You don’t have to worry anymore,” he said quietly. “Whoever did this to you.. they’re going to pay for it. I swear.”
7:34 PM c d
