What if the saints of old walked among us today-would we honor their triumphs, or whisper about their secrets?
Zarinna knows the weight of hidden truths. Once devoted, now marked by choices she cannot undo, she carries shame like a shadow she cannot...
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"DAVID!" Zarinna's whimpers escalated into desperate screams as the man lay unconscious atop her, the heat of the fire still licking the edges of her vision. She caught sight of the child in their midst, Hilda's small face streaked with charcoal, eyes wide and brimming with terror. Her chest constricted painfully as a burning sting shot through her arms and legs from the searing heat. Oh God, deliver us! she begged inwardly, voice cracking under the weight of desperation.
"Help!" she yelled, voice hoarse and raw, her gaze frantic as she sought salvation in the blocked doorway. "Help, please!!!"
Faint voices began to pierce the roar of the fire, like whispers through a storm, shadows moving closer. Relief flickered through her heart as men in uniform burst through the door, their presence like a beacon of hope cutting through the inferno.
"Oh, thank You, Jesus," she whispered, her throat tight, watching with trembling eyes as they lifted the heavy metal bar off David's back. The sight of blood seeping into his clothing made her stomach twist; she couldn't bear to look for long. Another man took Hilda gently from her arms, supporting the child with careful hands as the others carried David toward the open air.
The blaring ring of an ambulance filled the night, mingling with the crackle of the dying fire. A cold breeze hit Zarinna's flushed face, drawing shivers as she gasped for the first uncontaminated breath she had taken in what felt like an eternity. She followed, heart hammering, as they laid David onto the stretcher.
"S-sir?" she approached frantically, tapping the nearest paramedic. "He's going to be okay, isn't he?"
The man lowered his gaze, his hands firm on her shoulders. "We're not sure yet," he said evenly, the weight of those words anchoring dread in her chest. "But it looks like he's losing a lot of blood. Let's get into the ambulance, Ma'am. The man needs the hospital, quick."
Zarinna's fingers nervously fiddled with the blood-stained hem of her shirt—his blood—and a chill ran through her spine as her imagination raced to terrifying places. She rose, hands pressed against her chest, pacing the floor in restless agony.
Oh Lord... she whispered through trembling lips, burying her face in her hands. Please, please sustain him!
THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN, pulling her from the spiral of her thoughts. She bolted toward the doctor, eyes blazing, heart thundering.
"Doctor? How is he?" Her voice cracked, a blend of urgency and raw fear. "Is he okay?"
The doctor turned, a small, reassuring smile breaking through the tension. "He's okay, Ma'am. The possibility of infection is greatly reduced since we successfully removed the shards of metal that pierced his skin." Relief crashed over Zarinna like a wave, warm and unstoppable. "He's been transferred to a private room; you can go see him now."
"Thank you!" she cried, her voice thick with gratitude. "Thank you so much!"
The doctor nodded and walked away, leaving her with a fragile sense of peace that slowly seeped into her veins.
