*Disclaimer: A few scenes might be disturbing for certain audiences.*
Three days had passed since Mark's sudden disappearance. In those long, agonizing hours, Amara and Liora could only speculate on what had happened to him. The loan sharks had come to their door with menacing threats, but beyond that, the details of what transpired between Mark and them remained a mystery. Neither Amara nor Liora could shake the fear that lingered in the air like a heavy fog.
Amara had abandoned her work, her mind consumed by one singular focus—finding Mark, her husband, the man she had always known to be strong and full of life. She wanted to find him as she remembered him: smiling, alive, free from harm. Each passing hour without him made her heartache deeper, the silence of his absence gnawing away at her sanity.
Liora, too, had abandoned school, her childhood set aside as she stayed by her mother's side. She wasn't sure how much comfort she could offer, but she remained there, a silent pillar of support, offering what little strength she had. She clung to her mother as both of them desperately searched for answers.
The night Mark disappeared, Amara had rushed to the police station, convinced that the authorities would help her find her husband. But her hopes quickly turned to heartache. She visited the station for two straight days, each time being met with dismissive responses from officers who refused to take her concerns seriously.
They brushed her off with excuses—suggesting that Mark had simply gone away with another woman or that he just needed some time alone. They even mentioned his financial troubles as an explanation, offering no sympathy for her distress.
Despite her fervent explanations of the harassment they had faced from the loan sharks, and the fear that had gripped their family, the police acted as though it were all a misunderstanding. They were too tired of hearing her cries, growing frustrated at her constant visits. Amara pleaded with them, asking for help in any form, but her pleas were met with nothing but indifference.
Finally, after her countless visits, the police grew irritated and gave her an ultimatum. They demanded that she provide "proof"—something to substantiate her claims of harassment or proof that Sven had taken money from the loan sharks. Only then would they consider taking any action.
Without concrete evidence, they told her, her husband's disappearance was just another case of a man choosing to leave, and there was nothing they could do.
Sven had vanished without a trace, taking everything with him—the money, the trust, the hope that Mark had placed in his brother. Mark had never thought to ask for documentation, believing that family bonds were enough. It was a mistake he would never have the chance to regret.
The neighbors, who had seen the storm brewing in the Valentine home, turned a blind eye. Not one of them was willing to speak to Amara, let alone stand as a witness to the unfolding tragedy. Their silence was deafening, as if they too were complicit in her suffering.
With her heart heavy with despair, Amara stepped out of the police station, the doors sliding closed behind her with a finality that made her stomach churn. She paused just outside the glass door and cast one last glance back. The door, with its cold, sterile glass, felt like an impenetrable barrier between her and the justice she so desperately needed.
On one side, she stood, broken and vulnerable, reaching out for help, while on the other, the system stood unmoved, indifferent to her pain.
The silence from everyone around her had become unbearable. Desperate, Amara turned to the only remaining option—her relatives, both hers and Mark's. But that, too, was met with rejection. Every phone call she made went unanswered, her calls blocked as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience. When she tried to meet them face to face, she was met with scorn, mockery, and outright humiliation. No one wanted to get involved.
After days of enduring this cruel isolation, Amara found herself sitting alone on the front porch one evening, her eyes gazing up at the darkening sky. It was the same sky that had always been a comfort to her, a reminder of the divine presence she once believed in. But now, it felt distant, cold, and unreachable.
Tears spilled from her eyes once more, her body wracked with sobs. Her heart, heavy with sorrow, cried out silently to the one she had always turned to for guidance:
"Why has the whole universe turned its back on us?" she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of her grief.
The tears flowed freely, yet it never seemed enough. Her eyes were swollen and raw from the endless crying, yet the sorrow inside her felt infinite—no amount of tears could ever quench the ache that had taken root in her soul.
Beside her, Liora sat in stark contrast. Her eyes remained dry, hardened by the weight of the last few days. Where Amara's face was a map of anguish, Liora's seemed to hold a quiet resolve, a strange, unsettling calmness.
She had stopped crying, not because she felt any less pain, but because she had begun to understand that tears alone would not bring her father back. She had no words to offer her mother—only silence, but in that silence, there was a shared understanding of the despair that loomed over them.
Liora chose not to cry, even though every part of her longed to. Being her mother's pillar of strength was something she felt she needed to do in that moment. Despite the weight of her own fears and the ache in her heart, she was determined to remain composed—for her mother. She had to be strong, for both of them. If her mother needed to cry, Liora would offer her shoulder, a steady presence in the storm.
In the days since Mark's disappearance, Liora had taken charge of their home. From cleaning to cooking, she had stepped into the roles of both caretaker and protector. She even made sure Amara had at least one proper meal a day, pushing aside her own hunger and worries.
A bubbly ten-year-old girl—once full of laughter and joy—had been forced to mature far too quickly. The weight of responsibility was far heavier than any child should bear, yet Liora never once complained. She had learned to shoulder burdens that were not hers to carry, quietly and with grace.
The fourth day since Mark had vanished broke like the others—empty and heavy—but then came a sound that jolted them both. A sudden knock echoed through the silent Valentine household, an unexpected sound that hadn't graced their door in days. It startled Amara, rousing her from a restless sleep.
Her heart leapt, the anticipation of something—anything—pulling her from the depths of her grief.
Amara sprang from her bed, her breath quickening as she dashed towards the door. She had imagined this moment so many times in the past few days, each fantasy painting Mark's return as a beacon of hope. Maybe he was back. Maybe he had been safe all along, held captive by circumstances beyond his control. She had already planned a special meal for him, a romantic evening that would erase the fear and pain of the past days.
As she swung the door open, her heart surged with joy, her voice trembling with hope. "Mark!" she called out, the name a prayer, a plea.
But there was no one there.
Amara's gaze swept the empty porch, her eyes darting around in confusion. The cold air greeted her, but not the warm embrace of her husband. No familiar figure standing at the threshold, no comforting smile.
Had she imagined the knock? Was it just her desperate mind playing tricks on her, clinging to the smallest thread of hope?
"Mama?" Liora's voice cut through the quiet, a soft question laced with concern. She had appeared at the top of the stairs, having heard her mother's voice and the sudden movement.
Amara turned to face her daughter, her face a mix of confusion and heartbreak. "I thought... I thought I heard something," she said, her voice faltering.
Liora nodded, but she didn't ask any further questions. She could see the sadness in her mother's eyes and knew that whatever had happened outside wasn't good news.
Disappointment wrapped around Amara like a suffocating blanket. Her shoulders sagged as she hung her head with the crushing weight of unrealized hope. She felt like a defeated soul, dragged down by the enormity of everything that had gone wrong.
And then, through the fog of despair, something caught her eye. Something that froze her very soul.
Mark.
Lying motionless on the floor.
A scream, raw and primal, ripped through her chest before she even fully processed the image before her. She crumpled to the ground, her body instinctively falling to her knees. Her hands reached out toward him, but her mind refused to comprehend the scene unfolding in front of her. Was it really him? The man she had spent her life with?
Her vision blurred as disbelief wrapped around her thoughts. The logic, the reason that had kept her grounded, vanished into thin air, leaving her suspended in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.
Her scream was heard by Liora. Liora's heart pounded as she rushed toward her mother.
When she arrived, her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, taking in the scene that stole every ounce of air from her lungs.
Mark lay there, lifeless. His body was pale and cold, stark against the warmth of the home they once shared. The man who had always been the bright center of their family now lay in utter stillness.
Liora dropped to the floor beside her mother, her small body trembling with the weight of what she was witnessing. The tears she had been holding back for days—tears she thought she was too strong to shed—came pouring out of her in torrents. They streaked down her face, hot and fast, carrying with them the full, heartbreaking weight of loss.
Mark, her father, was gone. His usual smile, his fatherly warmth, seemed a world away from the cold, lifeless shell in front of them.
The horror deepened as Amara's eyes traced the countless stitches across his body. They painted a picture of violence, of cruel hands that had torn into him in ways words could never describe. His eye sockets were empty—hollow and sunken—as if something had taken everything from him, leaving only the husk of a man.
The sight twisted Amara's stomach into painful knots. Her hands shook as she reached for him, her breath coming in shallow gasps, unable to fully process what had happened to the man she had loved for so long.
Liora felt something bitter rise in her throat, an acidic taste that burned and made her gag. But she held it back, forcing herself to stay composed, to not let the grief consume her. It felt as if everything—the world, her childhood, her innocence—was slipping away in that very moment.
It was a scene no one should ever have to witness, a loss no one should have to endure.
But here they were, stranded in the horrifying aftermath of a nightmare that had no end.
Mark had not only lost his eyes—his once vibrant, expressive eyes—but the gaping stitches across his body suggested that far more had been taken from him. Several organs, perhaps. His form was a twisted canvas of violence and cruelty, marking the brutal reality of his fate.
Amara had wept for three agonizing days. But now, there were no more tears. Her face, once swollen and red, was now pale, void of any emotion, as if the sorrow had drained all life from her.
She stared at him, unmoving, as if frozen in time. She had become a shell, just like him.
Beside her, Liora sat, her head buried in her trembling hands. Her small body shook with sobs, each breath an effort, as the grief overwhelmed her fragile frame. Her hair hung in disarray around her face, her eyes swollen from crying.
"Dad," she whispered through the pain, the word a haunting echo that only deepened the ache in her heart.
The contrast between mother and daughter could not have been more heartbreaking. Two generations of the family, side by side, watching their beloved patriarch, the star of their household, now reduced to a tragic memory.
What made it even more tragic was the cruel indifference of those around them. Not a single hand reached out to offer help, not a single word of comfort was spoken. Oakridge Heights, once a place full of life and community, now felt like a ghost town, stripped of compassion and humanity.
Liora's gaze shifted to the people walking by, their faces a blur of indifference. None of them dared meet her eyes. They glanced briefly at Mark's body, their heads quickly turning away as they hastened their steps. None of them stopped, none of them acknowledged the pain, the agony that was unfolding just feet away. They passed by as if nothing had happened, as if they had no responsibility to the suffering that was unfolding in their midst.
Had Oakridge Heights, a place once filled with neighbors who knew each other's names, truly become so cold? It was a silence that stung like the cold winds of winter, and Liora felt it seeping into her bones.
The police arrived at the Valentine household in a mere 15 minutes. It was almost surreal—when Amara had been desperately pleading for help at the station just days earlier, the officers had brushed her off, offering excuses, dismissing her cries, and making her feel invisible. Now, without any call or request from her, they arrived promptly to collect Mark's body for an autopsy.
Their condolences were empty, like a scripted line spoken without empathy. They took Mark away, their faces grim, but the hollow words they offered didn't comfort Amara or Liora. In fact, it felt like another cruel reminder of how alone they were in this world.
Liora, seeing her mother standing in stunned silence, her face drained of life, stepped forward. Wiping away her own tears, she put on a brave front, taking charge as best as she could.
"We'll go with them," she said, her voice steady but laced with sorrow. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving her mother's side, even for a moment. The fear of losing the last piece of family she had left gripped her heart tightly.
They followed the officers to the hospital, where the cold, sterile air greeted them, almost as cold as the situation at hand. They waited for hours, the moments stretching longer as they sat in silence.
Amara remained motionless, her grief so profound it seemed to have turned her into a statue, untouched by time. Meanwhile, Liora tried her best to stay composed. She couldn't break down, not now. She had to be strong, for both of them.
Once the autopsy was completed, the police officers returned, carrying the grim report in their hands. The officer, a man in his mid-forties, looked at Liora before handing over the report, hesitating as though unsure of how to present such awful news to someone so young.
"Here," he said gently, his tone low, "this is the autopsy report." He watched her closely, wondering if it was right to place such a burden on her small shoulders.
Liora's hands shook slightly, but she held her ground, taking the report with a quiet nod. Her eyes were red and swollen, but there was something about her that seemed more composed than her mother, who had yet to say a word since the moment they arrived.
The officer glanced at Amara again, noting how Liora stood firm while her mother appeared lost in her sorrow. No one had come to visit the Valentine family. No calls, no offers of support, no one asking about Mark. The officer had noticed the emptiness in their lives, how the silence echoed louder than any words could.
As he turned to leave, his eyes lingered for a moment longer on Liora. He couldn't help but wonder how much more the child could endure.
The officer decided to show a gesture of kindness by getting cold chocolate milk for Liora and coffee for Amara from the vending machine.
He handed the drinks to Liora, who looked up at him in confusion. She was surprised by this unexpected act of compassion, especially after months of being met with cold shoulders from everyone else. The officer responded with a warm smile.
It felt like a rare moment of luxury for Liora, who was both hungry and thirsty after hastily leaving home without any money. She couldn't believe her luck when she received the chocolate milk from the officer. Without hesitation, she opened the can and drank it in one go. It was only then that she realized how dry her throat had become.
The officer knelt down to speak with little Liora, gently asking for her name.
"What is your name?"
"I'm Liora Valentine," she answered softly, wiping her mouth after finishing the chocolate milk.
"I'm Officer Dane Park. Are you hungry, little Liora?"
Liora hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with her fingers before meeting the officer's gaze and nodding in agreement.
The officer placed a reassuring hand on Liora's head and told her to take care of her mom while he went to get some food.
As Officer Park turned to leave for the cafeteria, Liora stopped him, grasping his hand.
"Could you..." She glanced at her mother, " Could you please bring something for my mother, too?" she asked, her voice tinged with a quiet plea.
"Of course."
Dane went to the cafeteria to buy sandwiches for both mother and daughter.
Liora returned to sit beside her mother and noticed the autopsy documents resting on her lap. She picked them up, hoping to make sense of them, but the medical terminology was too complex. Only a few words stood out to her: liver, kidneys, heart, and eyes.
When she reached the word "Eyes," her mind raced, struggling to understand its significance. Her father's eyes were gone, and now, she saw them mentioned in the report.
She skimmed the document again, her gaze catching familiar terms like "heart," "kidneys," and "liver." Tears blurred her vision as she tried to make sense of it all—the memory of large stitches across her father's chest.
'Were those organs taken too?'
She swallowed hard, her mind grappling with when and why her father's organs had been removed. The whole situation was too overwhelming for her to process.
Liora looked around the bustling government hospital, where everything seemed to move at its own rhythm. Amidst the constant activity, she and Amara sat still.
With tear-streaked eyes, Liora observed the flow of people—visitors coming and going, some anxiously waiting in long lines to register, others loitering near the pharmacy. Emotions ran the gamut—some were anxious, others joyful for new arrivals, and a few carried the weight of grief.
She glanced around, realizing that this place was a stark juxtaposition of life and death. Here, lives were brought into the world, while others quietly slipped away.
She murmured, "Life and death."
As the words left her lips, her thoughts turned to the one who had shattered their once-happy family.
An overwhelming urge surged within her—to uncover the identities of those responsible for her father's death. Yet, among all the names, one stood out in Liora's heart: Sven Valentine, her uncle.