Mais Perto
- Reads 34
- Votes 3
- Parts 1
Ongoing8m
Last published Fri, Jun 16, 2017
Ela ama o que faz , faz tudo com muito amor apesar de algumas pedras no caminho e mágoas do passado , nunca a deixou pra baixou , pelo contrário servia como
motivo para o dia seguinte ser melhor.Sempre com o pé atras quando se trata do 'amor', sempre com a desculpa que não servia para tipo de mulher que ela é.
Devido aos problemas pessoais sua paixão foi deixada de lado para seguir , o que sua real situação precisava um "emprego de secretária".
Ela não é infeliz ou triste "se foi o que pensou",mas sempre teve o pensamento de que "a vida é mais que isso",é que esse momento ia chegar. Para sua
surpresa ela conhece um homem que servia exatamente para o tipo de mulher que ela é . O que ela não espera ,é que esse homem seria seu chefe .
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secretaria
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The door opens and closes thirty times in five minutes, the table clutters endlessly. What's happening? Why am I being held by two officers in the corner of a counseling clinic? Is this an interrogation ground now? Shadows race past me, like mirages in a desert, faces flicker into view only to vanish the next second. The officers speak, but I can't hear them. My senses are failing me. Something inside me is taking control, and I might faint. If I wake up in a hospital, will this still be a nightmare, or something scripted? The city woke to devastation. The news spread like wildfire-Dr. Nadia, a champion for human rights, had been murdered in this very clinic. Yesterday, she voiced her fear for her life; no one listened. Now, she's gone. The press churned out articles minute by minute, TV channels broadcast live updates, and the internet roared with outrage. Police teams haven't slept. Top agents were deployed. That's how I met Inspectors Carla and Javed-while being held as both the prime suspect and the sole witness to this chaos. Dr. Nadia wasn't just a leader; she was a symbol of hope. She fought tirelessly for the oppressed, for justice, for rights the government ignored. Yet, she seemed to know her time was near. A week ago, she hinted at it but continued her fight. Yesterday, she paid the price-her life. Now, the city mourns her loss, consumed by guilt for ignoring her cries for help. The last time I saw Nadia, she was here, in this clinic. She didn't want to live. She seemed tired, desperate for respite. How does someone so adept at convincing others to hold on end up wanting to let go? Her death feels like a betrayal. She trusted us, and we failed her. I failed her. Now, it's on me to prove this was no accident-a cold-blooded murder. Or was it?
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