No voice came through.
Instead, the phone began playing another recording.
My mother appeared on the screen, sitting in the same hospital bed.
“If this recording has started, the blue box has been opened.”
Behind her stood Mira Fernandes in her hospital uniform.
Mira leaned into the camera.
“My name is Mira Fernandes. I work in the medical records department at Holy Grace Hospital. Dr. Adrian Saldanha ordered me to create a death record for Anaya D’Souza using the body of an unidentified woman.”
She held up several printed pages.
“When I refused, Rhea D’Souza offered me money. I copied every document and gave them to Mrs. Leena D’Souza.”
My mother took Mira’s hand.
“If either of us is harmed, these recordings will be sent automatically to the police, the hospital board, and three newspapers.”
A siren sounded somewhere outside.
Then another.
Rhea ran.
She pushed through the relatives, knocked over two chairs, and reached the front door before Neil caught her.
She clawed at his face.
“You fool! The cremation is at six, not seven!”
Mrs. Fernandes screamed.
The wall clock showed 5:41 a.m.
Rhea had changed the time.
Mira had nineteen minutes.
The police entered as we rushed down the stairs.
Mrs. Fernandes rode with them. I sat beside her, holding her hand as the vehicle tore through the waking streets of Bandra.
Behind us came another police jeep carrying Rhea, Neil, and my father.
None of us spoke.
At Holy Grace Hospital, the morgue attendant had vanished.
The door to the cremation loading area stood open.
A white ambulance was reversing toward the gate.
Inspector Lobo blocked it with his vehicle.
Police officers dragged the driver out.
Inside the ambulance lay a zipped black body bag.
Mrs. Fernandes climbed in before anyone could stop her.
She tore at the zipper.
Mira’s face appeared.
Her lips were blue.
Her skin was cold.
But when I placed my fingers beneath her nose, I felt the faintest whisper of air.
“She’s breathing!”
The next minutes became noise and movement.
Doctors ran toward us.
A stretcher appeared.
Mrs. Fernandes refused to release her daughter’s hand until Mira was inside the emergency ward.
Dr. Saldanha was arrested in the underground car park while trying to leave through the staff entrance. In his car, police found sedatives, altered hospital seals, and the missing pages from my mother’s medical chart.
The syringe from Rhea’s handbag contained the same drug found in Mira’s blood.
By sunrise, the entire plan had collapsed.
Mira woke that afternoon.
Her first words were not for her mother.
They were for me.
“Your mother knew she was dying.”
I sat beside her bed.
“What did Rhea give her?”
“Nothing directly. Rhea paid Dr. Saldanha to increase a heart medication until the dose became fatal. Your mother discovered it, but by then her organs were failing.”
I covered my mouth.
Mira squeezed my fingers weakly.
“She could have spent her final hours trying to save herself. Instead, she used them to save you.”
Rhea was charged with conspiracy, attempted murder, fraud, identity theft, and involvement in my mother’s death.
Dr. Saldanha confessed after learning the recordings had already reached the police.
Aunt Rosy avoided prison by admitting that Rhea had asked her to drug my tea. Neil surrendered himself over the stolen company funds and agreed to testify against our sister.
My father was charged for signing the forged documents.
Before the police took him away, he asked to speak to me.
We stood in the same living room where he had told me I should have died.
Mumma’s coffin remained in the centre.
My photograph still stood beside it.
“I do not deserve forgiveness,” he said.
“No.”
“I loved all my children.”
“You protected the ones who hurt me.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I was afraid of losing this family.”
I removed the black ribbon from my photograph.
“You lost it every time you chose silence.”
He bowed his head.
“I am sorry, Anaya.”
For years, I had imagined hearing those words.
I had believed they would heal me.
They did not.
Some apologies arrive after the wound has learned to live without them.
“I believe you are sorry,” I said. “But I cannot forgive you today.”
He nodded.
It was the first honest thing we had shared in years.
The next morning, we buried my mother beneath a rain-darkened sky.
Only a few relatives came.
The others were ashamed of the videos they had recorded and the accusations they had repeated.
La señora Fernandes estaba a mi lado. Mira permanecía en el hospital, con vida y recuperándose.
Neil se mantuvo a varios pasos de distancia, con el rostro magullado por el ataque de Rhea.
Cuando el sacerdote terminó la última oración, coloqué mi fotografía de graduación dentro de la tumba de mamá.
