Chapter 277: A Memorial for the Lost

**Thelma Zane’s Perspective** That was all my mother had to say. I understood her meaning perfectly. Having stood by my father’s side in countless battles, I was no longer a naive participant in politics. I understood the compromises and sacrifices that came with power and responsibility, the helplessness that often lay hidden beneath the dazzling facade of leadership. Yet, Layla’s death left an ache in my heart, a burden I couldn’t easily shake. It was more than just grief; it was a sense of moral dissonance. The questions loomed large in my mind, gnawing at me: was it truly necessary to sacrifice one life to protect the majority? Could the good of the many never coexist with justice for the individual? No matter how much I pondered, I found no answer. My thoughts felt trapped, like an unsolvable puzzle lodged in my chest, leaving me listless and uncertain. My father, perceptive as ever, noticed my internal struggle and graciously gave me space. I wandered aimlessly, lo