When I woke again, the familiar scent of sandalwood filled my nose. Not the antiseptic smell of a hospital, but the distinctive fragrance of the Simmons estate. I opened my eyes slowly. Above me was the carved ceiling I knew so well. On the nightstand, a lamp cast a soft amber glow—warm light that couldn't touch the ice in my heart.
Ramona was curled up in the chair beside my bed, her eyes swollen like walnuts, dried tear tracks still visible on her face. Her hair was a mess, exhaustion carved deep beneath her eyes. She must have been watching over me for hours. The moment I stirred, she jolted awake and leaned in close, her eyes lighting up with relief and heartache. "Marina! You're awake? Oh thank God, you're finally awake—you scared me half to death!"
She reached out to feel my forehead. Only after confirming I had no fever did she exhale and continue: "Don't worry, we've been on top of the police. Grandfather made the calls himself. Everyone at that school—the administrators, the staff who laid hands on them—they're all in custody now. We won't show any mercy this time. We'll make sure they face the consequences. We'll get justice for Louise and Zelda!"
I turned my head slowly, my hollow gaze drifting to the ceiling. Empty. As if my soul had been ripped out, leaving only a broken shell behind.
Justice? What was justice? My children were dead. Their bodies covered in bruises. I never even got to say goodbye. Even if every last one of those people rotted in prison, my babies weren't coming back. Justice was just a lie we told ourselves.
"Please..." My voice floated out thin and numb, like something drifting up from the depths of hell. "Let me go, Ramona. I have nothing left. My children are gone. What's the point of being alive? I don't want anything—not compensation from the Simmons family, not your so-called justice. I just want to leave. I want to get away from here. Away from everything connected to Max..."
Ramona's hand froze mid-motion, the joy draining from her face, leaving only raw heartache.
She knew. She understood what I'd already accepted in my bones—those monsters at the academy were guilty, yes, but the one who truly pushed my children into hell, who killed them with his own hands, was never anyone else.
It was their father. Max Simmons.