“Daddy… oh my daddy…” sobbed Princess Charlotte, her voice trembling with fear and sorrow as it echoed through the vast marble corridors. The usually composed royal staff rushed through the palace halls in panic, their radios crackling with confused voices. Reporters who had been stationed outside were suddenly pushed back behind the gates as security moved with alarming urgency. The palace’s internal alarms rang out —

sharp, cold, and relentless — as if the building itself sensed disaster. Within minutes, senior members of the royal family had gathered.

Princess Anne, pale and shaking, stepped into the room where the crisis had unfolded. She barely managed two steps before her knees buckled beneath her. She crumpled to the floor, clutching her chest, her face wet with tears. And then, from somewhere behind her, came the sound that froze even the guards in place — the sound of Kate’s raw, anguished wail. “Oh God… Oh God…” she cried out, her voice breaking as she collapsed into William’s arms. William stood motionless, holding her as if he too had been turned to stone, his eyes red and unfocused.

No one spoke. No one dared to breathe. The room was heavy with the weight of something unspeakable, something the family had dreaded yet never prepared to face. In that moment, the Palace — so accustomed to centuries of ceremony, tradition, and composure —

felt like a place of utter human grief. As dawn crept over London, the Union Jack above Buckingham Palace hung limp in the cold air. The nation still did not know what had happened, but the image of Princess Charlotte’s tear-stained face being carried from the palace burned itself into the world’s memory.