Chapter 18 The Whisper Of Truth

• Cantonal Hospital of Geneva – December
• The hospital lights had no soul. They were cold, clinical, indifferent. As if it didn’t matter how many bodies entered, how many dreams were extinguished. Life went on. But not mine.
• Everything smelled of chemicals, of fear, of suspended time. I had been here before. As a child. When they told me my mother had died. An accident, they said. Nothing to be done, they said. Lies. Always lies. Today I returned. Not as a daughter. Not as a victim. But as a weapon. Loaded with questions. And ready to fire.