Post Apocalypse

Mengisahkan watak Monika yang merupakan seorang artis rakaman. Dia berasal dari sebuah keluarga ternama, kaya dan berpengaruh. Namun dia berusaha merahsiakan identitinya dari diketahui umum untuk keselamatan dirinya yang menjadi buruan pembunuh upahan setelah kesemua ahli keluarganya mati dalam satu kejadian yang tragis. "Polis ada tunjukkan satu fail sulit dekat aku. Dalam fail tu ada gambar-gambar mayat ahli keluarga aku. Yang menarik perhatian ialaha tanda yang sama ditinggalkan di beberapa bahagian tubuh mereka." Kehidupannya semakin teruk. Dia tidak tahu kemana arah patut dituju. Dia tergelincir di dalam lembah penuh kegelapan. "Aku mengaku ketika aku berumur belasan tahun, aku pernah ambil benda-benda macam tu. Dengan harapan ia dapat menolong aku keluar dari dunia realiti walaupun untuk seketika." Tepat pada masanya, Haliene hadir dalam hidupnya. Haliene merupakan pemilik studio rakaman yang menjadi naungan Monika juga selaku sahabatnya. Dialah yang bertanggungjawab membantu Monika keluar dari dunia gelap setelah pelbagai dugaan dilaluinya. Dia menjaga Monika seperti adik perempuan kandungnya sendiri. "Umm... aku tertanya-tanya apa akan terjadi kalau kita tak pernah berjumpa? Aku tentunya dah mati." Haliene juga menyimpan rahsia yang Monika tidak tahu mengenai pembunuhan keluarganya juga kemalangan yang hampir meragut nyawanya. "Sampai bila kau nak kita semua terus berlakon? Bila ingatan dia dah pulih nanti, dia akan tahu juga siapa dia. Kau tak boleh nak rahsiakannya lagi. Aku kawan dia, aku kenal dia dahulu dari kau." Credit Cover Book (pink colour): via Monika Santucci's social media post

The hospital's latest intern, Lindsey Clark, is very pretty, but she's a total idiot as well. When my mom came to the hospital for a prescription, she swapped the vitamin C for potassium supplements, which were known to be very poisonous if misused. Mom, who was fresh out of surgery, suffered from heavy bleeding right after taking the medication. She died on the same night. Before I could hold Lindsey responsible for Mom's death, the latter quickly piped up with teary eyes, "I'm so sorry, Dr. Monroe! I just thought that potassium supplements can help your mother heal faster…" Even Michael Jones, my husband, who's the hospital director, takes her side. "Your mom only had her idiocy to blame! She died because she took the wrong medication! How dare you drag Lindsey into this!" I was so furious that my cardiac arrest was triggered on the spot. Soon, I was sent into the operating room. Lindsey said she wanted to redeem herself by taking on the post as Michael's assistant in the surgery. But her hands kept trembling even when she tried to thread the suture needle. In the end, she took off her mask and picked up the suture with her teeth. Just like that, she used her saliva to wet the suture end. One day later, I died in the ICU due to a case of severe infection. When my spirit was about to fade away, I heard Lindsey crying sadly. "If it wasn't for my idiocy, Dr. Monroe wouldn't have died!" Michael just patted her dotingly on the head in return. "Having medical risks in a surgical operation is completely normal. You're still young, so stop blaming yourself already." Mom and I were cremated instantly, seeing as Michael intended to cover up our deaths. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Lindsey has just gotten recruited by the hospital.

Le jour de notre anniversaire de mariage, la « muse » de mon mari a posté une échographie d’un fœtus sur Facebook, accompagnée d’un texte : « Merci à cet homme extraordinaire qui m’a soutenue pendant dix ans et m’a offert un fils. » J’ai failli m’évanouir en voyant ça, mais j’ai quand même laissé un commentaire : « Tu as eu un fils avec lui tandis que tu sais qu’il est marié ? » Quelques minutes plus tard, mon mari m’a appelée, furieux : « Tu vois le mal partout ! Je ne fais que lui prêter mon sperme pour une FIV. Elle voulait juste être maman célibataire. » Puis il a ajouté : « En plus, Réa est tombée enceinte du premier coup. Toi, tu as essayé trois fois et toujours rien. Ton ventre ne sert à rien ! » Trois jours avant, il m’avait dit qu’il partait à l’étranger pour affaires. Il ne répondait ni à mes appels ni à mes messages. Je pensais qu’il était occupé. Mais non. Il était avec elle pour son rendez-vous de suivi de grossesse. Une demi-heure plus tard, Réa a partagé une photo d’un festin. « Marre de la cuisine au Pays M. Et Luc a cuisiné pour moi, tout ce que j’aime ! » Je regardais les résultats de ma prise de sang confirmant ma grossesse, mes mains tremblantes, alors que ma joie se transformait en désespoir glacé. Huit ans d’amour fou. Six ans de compromis douloureux après le mariage. Cette fois, c’est fini. Je lâche tout.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."