Chapter 18

It took Lucas a hell of a lot of effort to finally lift that thin sheet shrouding the body. The morgue's freezing -8°C didn't do much to cover the stench. The foul smell hit him like a punch, and he had to take a step back. But then he forced himself closer, eyes locked on the woman's body. He was desperate to spot something, anything, that could prove everyone wrong. He wanted to shove the truth in their faces—those cops, all of them—and say, "Look! This isn't Sophia! She's not dead! My wife isn't dead!" But the body was curled up, completely burnt, limbs and skin dried out like charred wood. Even her once-soft, flowing hair was gone without a trace. All that was left as a clue—was the baby she held tightly in her arms. The baby was gone too. Dead. Burnt just like her. The police and doctors couldn't even separate the two. So that's how they were left—clinging to each other, even in death. Lucas couldn't hold back his tears. They slid down the corners of his eyes as he reached out, tr