The reporter kept walking, kept filming, showing the world what terrorism looked like, what targeting civilians meant in visceral, undeniable reality.
Then she saw something that made her stop completely.
A body…
A woman's body, positioned protectively over something smaller, her arms wrapped around it in a death grip that hadn't released even after life had fled.
And beneath her, barely visible, was a small child.
The reporter rushed forward, her professional detachment shattering completely as maternal instinct took over.
"Oh god. Oh god there's a child–"
She tried to move the body, her hands shaking so badly she could barely grip properly.
The dead woman's arms were locked tight, final determination keeping them wrapped around the child she'd died protecting.
"Please… Please let go... I need to… the child needs… please–"
