Zia

Next morning,

I awoke late, feeling a deep heaviness in my body. Arina lay beside me, sleeping peacefully. As I tried to move, I realized how weak and drained I felt, as though it was I who had been drained of energy. Confused and unsettled, I licked my lips and grimaced at the unpleasant taste lingering from the night before. The memory of our earlier actions made me shudder.

I stumbled into the washroom, rinsing my mouth repeatedly with water to rid myself of the foul taste. The coolness of the water was a slight relief, but the unease persisted.

Returning to the bedroom, I glanced over at Arina. Determined not to repeat the previous night's unsettling experience, I shook my head and approached Zia's crib.

"Honey, wake up. It's time for your breakfast," I whispered gently. I reached into the crib to pick her up, but her small body felt unnervingly cold and limp.

"Zia?" My voice cracked as I touched her cheek, trying to stir her. Panic surged through me. I sat on the edge of the bed, tears blurring my vision. My heart raced as I cradled her still form in my arms, my tears falling onto her tiny face.

Like last time, many people came to the house today, but the police were noticeably absent. My heart ached as I held Zia, now lifeless and cold on my lap. Her body had turned a ghastly shade of pale, as if someone had drained all her blood. The sight was unbearable. Max gently took Zia from my arms and gestured for someone to take her away for examination.

Arina was locked away in the bathroom, unresponsive to my calls. I felt a profound sense of helplessness, more intense than ever before. The room buzzed with whispers and murmurs, and the crowd's suspicion grew. Rumors began to spread, some saying our house was cursed, others accusing Arina of foul play. The same dark insinuations arose, claiming that she had a bad influence on our home.

Despite the swirling accusations, I knew Arina was innocent. I was here with her the entire time. I couldn't save my child again, and the weight of that failure crushed me. It was my fault, not Arina's.

"Max, tell everyone to get out of my house," I said with a voice heavy with grief and frustration.

"Zoe, you need to calm down first," Max said, his hand resting firmly on my shoulder. 

"I don't want them, Max. Just tell them to leave," I insisted, my voice taut with despair.

Max sighed deeply and headed downstairs. I closed my eyes, struggling to grasp the reality of my situation. Everything felt surreal and distorted, my mind spinning with confusion and grief.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find Arina, her face etched with sorrow. "Zoe," she said softly. I couldn't bring myself to look at her. I felt like I had failed, not just her but our family.

Arina wrapped her arms around me, her embrace warm but tinged with sadness. "Zoe, I think your God doesn't love me. That's why He's playing with us."

Before I could respond, Max knocked on the door. Arina reluctantly loosened her hold and opened it. "Mr. Max, you haven't gone yet?"

Max shook his head. "I couldn't leave you guys like this."

"Zoe," Max said, sitting beside me. "Come on, let's walk outside. Maybe it'll do you some good."

Arina offered a faint, weary smile. "Okay, Max."

"Zoe, someone wants to meet you," Max said, his voice tinged with urgency.

I turned and saw Mrs. Rosalie approaching, her presence like a shadow that held both wisdom and weight.

"Son," she said, taking my hand in hers. Her touch was surprisingly gentle.

"Aunt, I'm sorry. I apologize for everything. Forgive me," I said, my voice laden with remorse and shame.

"Zoe," Mrs. Rosalie said, her tone firm yet comforting, "It's not the time for apologies. You need to be careful."

She then reached into her pocket and produced a locket, extending it towards me.

"Take this, son. Never take it off and always ask God to help you. Keep faith in Him. He will save you from the devil."

Her words cut deep, like an arrow piercing through my chest. I took the locket, feeling its weight in my palm, and put it around my neck. The locket felt strangely reassuring, like a small shield against the chaos that had enveloped my life.

After saying my goodbyes to Mrs. Rosalie, I returned home. As I entered, I saw Arina standing there, her face a mix of relief and worry. She rushed to me and enveloped me in a hug.

"Zoe," she said, her voice trembling, "Where did you go?"

Her sudden shift from joy to fear caught me off guard. I pulled back slightly to look at her, noting the genuine concern etched on her face.

"I was near, Arina," I called out, reaching for her hand. But she yanked it away and hurried upstairs, leaving me bewildered and frustrated.