The steady hum of machines in the hospital room offered little comfort to Sally Raymond as he sat quietly beside Zaria's bed. The girl lay still, unconscious, her body battling more than any child should ever have to. Tubes ran into her frail arms, a heart monitor beeped beside her in regular rhythm, and her lips were dry and cracked.
He had been visiting daily now, never missing a moment—even if all he could do was sit silently beside her. Some days he read her the letters she had written. Other days he just held her hand and watched her sleep, hoping she could feel the presence of someone who finally cared.
But today was different.
Kwizi Samuel, dressed in a grey tailored suit, stepped quietly into the private ICU room, holding a folder. His face was more serious than usual, his usual confident air weighed down by the burden of what he was about to say.
Sally turned to him immediately. "Any updates?"
Kwizi closed the door behind him and nodded. "Yes. The scans came back."
He pulled up a chair and sat next to Sally, opening the folder.
"I asked the lab to double-check because I couldn't believe the results the first time."
Sally's brows furrowed. "What did they find?"
Kwizi exhaled heavily. "She's been poisoned."
Sally's heart skipped. "Poisoned?"
Kwizi nodded grimly. "Yes. The vomiting of blood wasn't just caused by malnutrition. A slow-acting toxin—possibly something mixed in her food over a long period—has been breaking down her organs bit by bit. Her liver is damaged, and her kidneys are on the edge of failure. If she hadn't been found when she was, she wouldn't have lasted another week."
Sally was speechless. His eyes filled with a mix of rage and heartbreak. "Who could do something so monstrous?"
Kwizi continued, "She's also severely malnourished. Her blood shows signs of prolonged starvation. And from the state of her muscles and bones, we can tell she's been overworked—possibly made to do hard labor on little to no food for years."
Silence fell heavy between them.
Then Kwizi said carefully, "She needs a major operation—maybe several. But her body isn't strong enough yet. We'll need to stabilize her for a few weeks before she can be flown to India for surgery. They're the best at this type of multi-organ treatment."
Sally's voice trembled slightly, but his resolve was strong. "Do whatever it takes. I'll cover everything. Private jet, best surgeons, all of it. Just save her life."
Kwizi gave a small, respectful nod, but there was still something in his eyes—something unsaid.
Sally noticed.
"What is it?" he asked.
Kwizi hesitated. Then his voice dropped, quiet and heavy. "There's one more thing. I didn't want to tell you until I was sure."
He reached for another file and placed it on the table.
"The team ran a rape kit. Given how she was found—half-naked, dumped, and unconscious—we had to be thorough."
Sally's hands clenched on the arms of the chair.
Kwizi continued, "The results came back this morning. She was raped. Possibly by more than one person."
The room went still.
Sally's chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What?"
"She has injuries consistent with sexual assault. And the evidence confirms it."
Sally stood up abruptly, pacing the room, his fists balled. "You mean after everything she's been through—someone still had the audacity to do that to her? They beat her, starved her, poisoned her… and then raped her? And left her for dead like trash?"
He turned sharply toward the window, breathing hard, tears of anger welling in his eyes.
"What kind of creatures are these? Some people are more cruel than animals!"
Kwizi didn't speak. He knew no words could ease what Sally felt.
After a long pause, Sally spoke again—his voice quieter now, but sharp as a blade. "When she's better, I want her to tell me everything. Names. Faces. Every detail she remembers. And when I find them, they'll regret the day they touched her."
Kwizi nodded. "We'll handle it carefully. The hospital has cameras, security—no one will reach her again. Not while she's under our care."
Sally walked back to Zaria's bedside and looked down at her pale face. Her fingers twitched slightly. He gently took her hand into his.
"You hear that, Zaria?" he whispered. "You're not alone anymore. And no one—no one—will ever hurt you again."
He sat back down and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "You've lived in horror long enough. But now… you're going to live in peace."
---
That evening, in a different part of the city, Beatrice sipped wine in her flower-decorated lounge, chatting with a friend on the phone.
"No, I told the maid to burn those silly papers. I don't even want to remember her name," she said casually, laughing. "She was nothing but a mistake. One I corrected long ago."
She had no idea those letters were never burned.
And that her past was no longer buried.
---
Back at the hospital, as night fell and stars twinkled beyond the windowpane, Zaria remained unconscious—but her body was holding on. Her breathing was slow but steady.
Sally stayed long after visiting hours ended, sitting silently, praying.
And in the corridors of that private hospital, vengeance, justice, and compassion quietly woke up—because a girl who had been discarded was now being fought for.