A guttural scream tore from my throat, wave after wave of raw despair.
*Calm down?*
*How am I supposed to calm down?*
My son was a cold corpse lying on a hospital bed. Yet Leon Weiss expected me to return to that place and nurse a child who was already gone.
I collapsed to the floor, wailing until my voice broke.
The next day, dragging a body that felt filled with lead, I went to cancel my son's identity registration. At the entrance of the bureau, I spotted Leon reporting to a superior.
"Director, the mission is complete." His voice was clipped and professional. "Zero casualties on site."
The words struck me like a physical blow. I screamed, rushing forward to confront him.
"That's a lie! My son is dead!"
Leon's eyes narrowed. In one fluid motion, he yanked me behind him, turning to the director with an apologetic, practiced smile.
"My apologies, Director. Rose is... unstable. She tells everyone she meets that our child has passed."
He paused, his tone shifting to one of heavy, performative sorrow. "The doctor and Claire both believe the trauma triggered a delusional disorder."
The director sighed, patting Leon's shoulder. "You've had a hard time too, Leon. Go home. Take care of your family."
The moment the director walked away, the mask dropped.
A vein throbbed at Leon's temple. He spun around and cracked his hand across my face.
"Rose Fisher, have you lost your mind?" His voice was a low growl. "I'm warning you—don't cause me any more trouble."
I crumpled, clutching his lapels to keep from falling. "Why won't you listen? Would I use our son's life to lie to you?"
Leon's gaze went arctic. "You came back yesterday acting like a lunatic and nearly strangled the dog. Today, you're making a scene at the bureau." He shoved my hands away. "I think Claire is right. You need psychiatric help."
I tried to explain. I begged him to listen.
But Leon was deaf to my words. He insisted I was insane.
Because of his label—*crazy person*—the staff refused to even look at the bloodstained medical records in my hand. They wouldn't issue the death certificate.
Defeated, I could only leave.
Three days later, I held a small funeral for David Matthews.
The mourning hall was cold and desolate. Aside from a few stone-faced staff members, I was the only one by David's side.
Just as the final farewell ended and my son's small body was about to be consigned to the furnace, the main doors burst open.
Leon stormed in, his face livid.
"Rose Fisher, are you done with the theatrics? Hand David over! Do you have any idea how frantic I've been looking for him these past two days?"
He scanned the mourning hall, his fury mounting. "You really are sick. Holding a funeral for a living person?"
With a roar, he swept the offerings off the altar. They crashed to the floor, scattering ash and fruit.
The staff stepped forward, shouting at him to stop, but I was faster.
I charged at him with a hoarse cry, wanting to tear the flesh from his bones.
He shoved me back effortlessly. My waist slammed into the sharp corner of a table, the pain blinding me for a second. Tears sprang to my eyes.
I slumped to the floor, glaring up at him. "You said you looked for David for two days. Did it never occur to you to check the hospital?"
Leon's brow furrowed in impatience. "Of course I looked. The hospital said there was no patient by that name, so I came for you." He took a threatening step forward. "Cut the crap. Where is our son?"
A hollow, chilling laugh escaped me. In the empty crematorium, it sounded like the cry of a ghost.
"Of course he isn't on the admission list." My voice was a rasp. "You should have checked the morgue records."
I pointed a trembling finger at the coffin.
"David didn't even make it out of the emergency room before he was a cold corpse."
