I ended the call.
At 11:52, a courier delivered a sealed evidence box to Victor’s office.
Inside were Emilia’s medical file, the bracelet, and a handwritten letter from Ronald.
I did not read it.
Some apologies are not gifts.
Some are merely exits disguised as remorse.
Victor stored everything.
Mara finalized the announcement.
And by morning, the world would know Emilia’s name.
But no one—not Ronald, not Priscilla, not even me—could have predicted who would be waiting at the press conference.
Part 8: The Little Boy in the Front Row
The press conference was held at the Emilia Carter Children’s Heart Institute.
I had not stepped inside in eleven years.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I cared too much.
The building stood in soft white stone beside a hospital garden filled with hibiscus, palms, and a fountain where families sat while waiting for news that could either save them or split their lives in half.
