In The Midst of Ghouls

Jeffrey covered her with his suit jacket and snuggly gathered her into his arms, lifting her as if she were the most precious thing in the world—because she was.

The moment he stepped out, the crowd gasped.

The noise of the stadium had dimmed, but this—this was a spectacle. People stared. Murmurs rippled through the sea of faces.

And then…

A flash.

Then another.

Flashes. Phones. Recording.

Jeffrey's blood boiled.

How dare they?

How dare they turn this into a show?

How could they stand there, gawking, as if Joanne's pain—his Joanne's pain—was nothing more than entertainment?

She had loved these people. Treasured them. Given them her time, her dedication, her everything.

And yet, when she was at her most vulnerable—when she needed just one ounce of the kindness she had so freely given—this was what they did?

They stared. Recorded.

As if she were a spectacle.