Rejected: A love story-Chapter 129: Lord, grant rest to the soul of your servant Viktoria.

A Few Hours Later

The morgue door creaked open as the Alexandrovna family entered, their faces were pale and filled with grief. A middle-aged man in a dark suit led the way, his arm around a woman who was barely holding herself together. Behind them was a younger man, It was clear he was trying to keep himself together as he avoided looking at the table where Fiona lay.

The man in scrubs greeted them with a somber nod. "I’m so sorry for your loss," he said, his voice low and professional. "This must be very difficult for you."

The father nodded stiffly, his eyes fixed on their supposed daughter still form. "We... we need to know what happened. Was it quick? Did she suffer?"

The man in scrubs hesitated for just a moment before replying. "It was quick. She didn’t feel any pain." He gestured to a clipboard on a nearby counter. "I’ve prepared the autopsy report. It confirms that she died on impact. There’s no sign of foul play."

The father took the clipboard with shaking hands, scanning the report without really reading it. The mother let out a choked sob, burying her face in her hands. The younger man—Viktoria’s brother, judging by the resemblance—stepped forward, his eyes dark as he stared at Fiona.

"She looks..." He faltered, his voice cracking. "She looks different."

The man in scrubs didn’t panic at all.

"That’s normal after an accident. The bruising and swelling can change a person’s appearance slightly. But I assure you, this is Viktoria."

The brother didn’t look convinced, but he said nothing. The father placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "Enough," he said gruffly. "We’ve seen enough."

The man in scrubs nodded. "I’ll arrange for the body to be prepared for transport. Where will she be buried?"

"In the family plot," the father replied. "We’ll take her home tonight."

"Of course." The man in scrubs turned back to Fiona, his expression unreadable.

"I’ll make the arrangements."

In the hours that followed, Fiona’s body was placed in a casket and handed over to the family. They left the morgue without another word.

As the black car carrying Fiona’s casket disappeared down the road, the man in scrubs let out a relieved sigh. He pulled out his phone immediately and dialed a number. "It’s done," he said simply.

On the other end of the line, Natasha’s voice was cold but calm. "Good. Make sure the paperwork is clean. I don’t want any surprises."

"It’s clean," the man replied. "She’s Viktoria now. As far as they’re concerned."

There was a pause, then Natasha’s voice came again. "And Fiona? When will she wake up?"

"In about eight hours," he said. "But by then, but you don’t have to worry. Everything is going as planned, the doctor to examine should be on ground already." He advised.

Natasha sighed. "I know. My men will handle it, I’ll make sure of that."

#########

The cemetery was quiet, except for the low murmur of voices. A small crowd had gathered around the freshly dug grave, their faces pale and filled with grief.

Viktoria’s family stood close to the casket, her father was clearly in pain, and her mother clung to his arm, her eyes were red and swollen from hours of crying.

Viktoria’s elder brother stood slightly apart from them, his eyes were still dark as he stared at the ground, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

Behind them were Viktoria’s friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Among them was her best friend, Anya—a petite girl with dark hair and delicate features. Anya’s face was pale, her cheeks wet with tears as she clutched a single white rose in her trembling hands. She hadn’t spoken much since Viktoria’s death, but her grief was written all over her face.

The priest stood at the head of the grave, his black robes billowing slightly in the wind. He held an old Bible in his hands, his voice steady as he recited the prayers.

The crowd listened in silence, some bowing their heads, and others staring blankly at the casket as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing.

"Господи, упокой душу рабы твоей Виктории," the priest said solemnly. "Прости её грехи и даруй ей вечный покой." (Lord, grant rest to the soul of your servant Viktoria. Forgive her sins and grant her eternal peace.)

As the priest continued his prayers, Viktoria’s mother let out a soft sob, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her husband’s chest. He held her tightly, his own face etched with pain he refused to show. Anya stepped forward hesitantly, her hands trembling as she placed the white rose on the casket. Her lips quivered as she whispered, "Прощай, моя дорогая подруга." (Goodbye, my dear friend.)

One by one, the mourners approached the casket, each placing a flower as a small token of remembrance on top. Viktoria’s brother lingered for a moment longer than the others, his fingers brushing the casket as he whispered something no one else could hear.

The priest raised his hands, his voice growing louder as he recited the final prayer. "Аминь," he said firmly, closing the Bible. (Amen.)

The crowd murmured in unison, echoing the word. "Аминь."

The funeral workers stepped forward, preparing to lower the casket into the grave. Viktoria’s mother let out another sob, clutching her husband’s arm as she watched her daughter’s coffin slowly descend.

Anya just stared blankly, as her eyes locked on the casket as it disappeared into the earth. Her and Viktoria had been friends since childhood, but Viktoria had abandoned her for some new reckless people she met over the years. They had even gone to high shool together, yet Viktoria never associated with her because to everyone she was a nerd and Viktoria never wanted to be called or seen together with a "nerd"

All these past treatments never made Anya hate or despised Viktoria, infact when she heard about the accident, she was the first and only friend to show up at the hospital but unfortunately she never made it out of the emergency room and they never got to settle their differences. Anya sobbed more as she watched the coffin, she couldn’t believe her friend was just gone like that.

As the mourners began to toss flowers into the grave, something strange happened. The casket shook slightly.

It was subtle at first, just a faint tremor that might have been dismissed as the wind or the movement of the lowering device.

But then it shook again, harder this time.

The crowd froze, their murmurs dying instantly. Viktoria’s father took a step forward, his face pale. "Что это было?" he asked sharply. (What was that?)