“Stay back!” Peter roared, eyes bulging, spittle flying with each word. “She belongs beneath the ground! Do you hear me? Beneath the ground!”
Two men in black suits lunged to restrain him, but Peter shoved them aside with a desperate burst of strength. The crowd recoiled. Mothers pulled their children close. The pastor dropped his Bible, his voice cracking in fear.
Micah still did not move. He stood firm in the storm of people, his worn uniform dusted with dirt, his beard stirring in the cold wind. His voice rose once more, stronger, tearing through the air.
“Look at her, Peter. Look at your wife.”
Everyone turned. They saw Samantha’s chest rising and falling, weak but unmistakable. Another cough burst out, stronger this time. Her eyelids fluttered like heavy doors struggling to open. A collective sigh rippled through the crowd, as if they had just awakened from a nightmare.
Aunt Helen screamed, her voice breaking apart. “She’s alive! She’s alive!”
Samantha’s lips trembled, and a hoarse whisper slipped from her throat. “Why?”
She opened her eyes, half-conscious, gazing up at the man before her. Her voice cracked apart, full of pain. “Peter… why?”
In that moment, strength drained from Peter like water leaking from a cracked vessel. The metal object slipped from his hand and clattered against the cement with a chilling ring. It was a syringe filled with a murky liquid. The crowd exhaled again, but this time it was the exhale of realization.
Security guards rushed in, pinning Peter down despite his wild kicking and screaming. “No! No! She was supposed to go! She was supposed to…” His screams were cut short as they locked his arms.
The mask of grief he wore throughout the funeral shattered, exposing raw rage and naked ambition. Every eye turned to Dr. Mason. He had backed away several steps, his face ghostly pale, sweat beating down his temple.
“I… I diagnosed based on what I saw,” he stammered. “I thought she had passed.”
Micah’s voice rang out, sharp as a blade. “Lies. You helped him. You signed the death certificate knowing she was still alive. That wasn’t medical error.”
Samantha coughed again, harder. Aunt Helen supported her. Her hair fell forward, her skin slick with sweat. But her eyes—red, fierce—locked onto Peter as if piercing through him.
“What did I ever do to you?” Samantha sobbed. “Did I deserve this?”
Peter lay motionless in the guard’s grip. Samantha’s voice fractured, each word slicing through the air like a knife. “I gave you power. I entrusted you with a division of my empire. I loved you, despite my wealth. And this… this is how you repay me?”
The crowd erupted with murmurs. Some people wept; others shook their heads in disbelief. She turned, her gaze pinning Dr. Mason.
“And you,” she said, her voice broken but icy. “I built your hospital. I bought your car. I lifted you up when you had nothing. And this is how you repay me?”
Dr. Mason opened his mouth, but no words came. His silence admitted everything.
Samantha swayed. Her strength was fading. Micah lunged forward, catching her with hands roughened by labor, yet strangely gentle. His voice was no longer thunder, but a calming wind.
“Easy, ma’am. You’re safe now.”
Samantha turned toward him. Their eyes met. In her eyes—wet, fragile, yet burning—he saw gratitude so deep it could break a man. She looked past the tangled beard, the worn uniform. She saw the man who had pulled her back from death’s edge.
“Who are you?” she whispered. “Why did you do this?”
Micah lowered his gaze, his voice rough and gravelly. “Because I knew the truth. Yesterday, I heard him in the car, talking about a quick burial, about silence, about how the empire would be his. I couldn’t let it happen. Not again.”
The mourners leaned in, absorbing every word. Samantha gripped Micah’s arm, her breath shaky but growing steadier.
“You… you saved me,” she said, her voice cracking. “You gave me my life back.”
Peter thrashed again, screaming in desperation. “She’s supposed to be mine! Everything is supposed to be mine!”..
