The rain had stopped three days ago.
But the mountain still smelled like death.
Cold mud covered what remained of the small village path, and broken trees leaned dangerously over the hillside like silent witnesses to tragedy.
Naomi stood outside the tiny house, staring at the cloudy sky with swollen eyes.
She had not truly slept in weeks.
Maybe months.
Inside the house…
Gabriel still had not moved.
The doctors from the nearest town had already said their piece.
If they could even be called doctors.
“He may never wake up.”
“He’s alive… but barely.”
“You should prepare yourself.”
Prepare herself?
How was she supposed to prepare herself to bury the only person who had ever truly loved her?
Naomi tightened her grip on the wooden doorway.
Her hands had become rough over the years.
Not from age.
From survival.
Behind her, a weak cough came from inside the house.
Leon.
Naomi quickly wiped her eyes before turning around.
The little boy sat near the bed, watching his father silently.
Too silently.
At six years old, Leon already understood suffering more than most adults.
“Mother…” he whispered softly.
Naomi forced a smile.
“Yes?”
“Will Father wake up today?”
The question stabbed her the same way it did every single morning.
But she still knelt beside him gently.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
Leon looked back at Gabriel’s motionless body.
His small face carried hope that reality did not deserve.
Naomi reached out and touched her son’s cheek carefully.
He was growing thinner again.
That worried her more than anything.
Food had become difficult.
Very difficult.
Ever since the landslide destroyed most of the farms nearby, the village itself had started collapsing slowly.
People barely had enough for themselves.
And helping Naomi?
That had stopped long ago.
At first, they pitied her.
Then they grew tired of her tragedy.
Now?
Most of them avoided her...