77– A Child Doomed Before Birth
Moon and Kai sprinted through the hotel's entrance, their footsteps pounding against the wooden floorboards.
The heavy glass door slammed shut behind them with a hollow thud, the echo bouncing off the dimly lit lobby walls.
Both were panting hard, lungs burning, sweat streaking down their temples. Their hearts hammered—not just from the run, but from the knowledge of what was outside.
Before either could speak, the air in front of them shimmered faintly.
A rectangle of pale blue light blinked into existence, words scrawling across it in perfect, cold lettering:
GOAL REACHED
LOADING…
And then the world betrayed them.
Kai's brow furrowed.
The floor beneath their feet dissolved—not crumbled, not cracked—vanished, as if reality itself had been erased.
There was no sound of breaking wood, no splintering. One second there was a surface, the next… only empty space.
They dropped instantly, their bodies weightless in the sudden void.
Moon's arms flailed once before gravity took full hold.
Kai's eyes widened, a mix of confusion and disbelief frozen on his face.
They were falling.
No wind, no rush of air in their ears—only an eerie stillness, as if even physics had paused to watch them plummet.
Below them, there was no ground.
Only an endless, blinding white stretching out in all directions.
The light grew harsher, consuming the outlines of their bodies until all shape and shadow were gone.
Then—blackness.
Everything ceased.
They didn't feel the impact.
They didn't even feel themselves breathe.
The world simply… went away.
Both lay unconscious, lost to whatever had claimed them.
The next scene unfolded .
A church stood bathed in golden afternoon light, its tall spire cutting into a cloudless sky.
From above, the world seemed quiet—peaceful—only the faint rustle of wind against the old stone walls breaking the silence.
Inside, sunlight poured through stained-glass windows, painting the altar in fractured reds, blues, and golds.
The scent of fresh lilies hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of burning candles.
The priest, a kindly old man with white hair and a warm smile, looked at the couple before him and spoke the familiar words:
"You may now kiss the bride."
The man—a tall figure with striking red ginger hair—stepped forward.
His hands trembled slightly as he cupped the face of the woman before him.
She was beautiful in a way that seemed to belong to another time, her long black hair cascading down her back, her dark eyes soft with emotion.
He leaned in, their lips meeting in a gentle, lingering kiss.
When they parted, his voice was low, almost trembling as he whispered into her ear,
"Lily… I'm so happy to marry you."
Her lips curved into a faint, tender smile.
"Me too, Albert."
The ceremony continued with laughter, applause, and blessings from friends and family. Rings were exchanged, hands held, promises made.
By evening, Albert and Lily walked together toward their new home, the street glowing under the warm haze of sunset.
The house was modest but welcoming, a place full of promise.
Neither of them knew—nor would they have believed—that it was the very same house from which two strangers, Moon and Kai, had fled in desperate fear .
---
That night, the world outside faded away.
They were no longer bride and groom in the ceremonial sense.
The vows had been spoken, the rings exchanged. The guests were gone, the church doors shut.
Now, behind the safety of their own walls, they were simply Albert and Lily—two souls bound by love, not by ritual.
The room was lit only by the faint golden glow of an oil lamp on the bedside table.
Shadows swayed lazily along the walls, cast by the gentle flicker of the flame. Outside, the wind brushed against the wooden shutters, but inside there was only warmth.
They sat at the edge of the bed for a while, their fingers entwined, saying nothing at first.
It wasn't an awkward silence—it was the kind where words would only get in the way.
Albert traced his thumb over Lily's palm, memorizing the feel of her skin as if he were touching something rare and irreplaceable.
She leaned into him, her hair brushing his cheek, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers from the bouquet she had carried earlier that day.
When they finally lay back, they explored each other slowly, as though every inch of skin was something new to be learned, not rushed through.
His hands brushed along the curve of her waist; hers rested against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
Between them, laughter bubbled up in quiet bursts—soft chuckles when a kiss landed in the wrong place, or when a whispered word was followed by an embarrassed smile.
The bed creaked softly under their shifting weight, the sound mingling with the breathless pauses between kisses.
Every so often, a gasp or sigh escaped, unguarded and real, filling the dimly lit room with the sound of unpolished affection.
Somewhere beyond these walls, the city went on with its night.
But here, time felt slower.
Even the walls seemed to hold their warmth, as if they were drinking in the joy and storing it away.
And perhaps, just perhaps, somewhere out there, a neighbor turned over in bed with a faint smile, catching the muffled echoes of love drifting through the quiet night air.
A year slipped by, each season passing like the turning of pages in a story they both believed would last forever.
It was, by all appearances, a happy year.
Albert had changed.
Gone was the thin, almost frail man from their wedding day.
Now he carried a healthy weight, his cheeks fuller, his skin warmer, his steps more confident.
One morning, as Lily flipped golden-brown pancakes onto his plate, Albert leaned back in his chair and grinned.
"Lily, from today… no more pancakes," he said, rubbing his stomach dramatically.
"I can't control myself. Look at me—back then I was slim, now I'm just fat!"
She laughed—a clear, melodic laugh that could have convinced men to march to war for her.
Her eyes sparkled.
"Baby, what you called 'slim' was actually malnutrition. Now you just look… right."
Albert's ears flushed red.
He waved off her words with a sheepish smile.
"Alright, alright. I'm off to work."
He leaned in to kiss her cheek, the scent of her hair lingering for a heartbeat, before slipping on his coat and heading for the door.
The bell above it chimed softly as he left, his steps quickening toward the butcher shop he ran just down the street.
The moment the door shut behind him, the house fell into a different kind of quiet.
The warm clink of the latch echoed briefly through the hallway, then faded into stillness.
Lily stood there for a second, her hands loosely resting on the edge of the kitchen counter, listening to the muffled rhythm of Albert's boots fading down the street.
Her smile, the one she had worn for him as he left, thinned… and then collapsed entirely, like a candle flame snuffed out by an invisible hand.
Her eyes lost their brightness in an instant, replaced by something heavier—an unspoken weight pressing at the corners of her mouth.
She turned quickly, almost sharply, and made her way down the hallway.
Her bare feet whispered against the floorboards, each step more hurried than the last, until she reached the bathroom door.
Her hand shook just slightly as she twisted the lock, the soft click somehow loud in the silence.
The bathroom smelled faintly of lavender soap and old steam from the morning shower.
She knelt by the cabinet beneath the sink, pulling it open with more force than she intended.
From the back, hidden beneath folded towels and a box of unused candles, she retrieved it—a small, unassuming pregnancy test kit.
She had taken it earlier that morning, before breakfast.
She hadn't wanted to look at it then.
Now she forced herself to.
The thin plastic stick felt colder than she expected in her hands, though the truth of it had already burned its way into her mind.
Two lines.
Clear. Unmistakable.
Her knees weakened, and she let herself sink onto the edge of the bathtub.
Her lips trembled once—twice—before the first tear slipped free.
And then they came in a flood.
Hot, relentless tears rolled down her cheeks, falling into her lap, blurring her vision until she could no longer see the test at all.
Her shoulders shook, but she made no sound—not even the smallest sob.
It was the kind of crying that burned more inside than it showed outside, the kind where breath caught painfully in the throat.
For nearly an hour she stayed like that, folded into herself, feeling the rise and fall of her chest grow heavier and heavier.
The world outside the small bathroom didn't matter.
Not the sound of a cart rolling past outside, not the muffled voices of neighbors, not even the soft ticking of the clock in the hallway.
When her tears finally slowed, her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen, and her body felt hollow—as if the crying had drained more than just her strength.
She wanted to tell Albert.
She needed to tell him.
The thought sat like a stone in her stomach.
But fear held her still.
---
It wasn't that they didn't want a child.
On the contrary—they had prayed for one.
Many nights had been spent lying in bed, speaking in hushed voices about how their little one might look, whose eyes they might inherit, whether their laugh would be bright like Lily's or quiet like Albert's.
They had imagined small fingers curling around theirs, imagined the sound of soft giggles in the hallways.
But this city…
This city swallowed children.
For the past four, maybe five years, no newborn had survived beyond two weeks.
They were born healthy—sometimes even thriving for the first few days—but without warning, they would weaken, their tiny bodies failing with no clear cause.
Doctors could only watch helplessly.
Families could only bury their dead.
The police had tried.
They had set guards around every newborn, day and night.
They had locked doors, barred windows, and assigned patrols to circle homes in shifts.
But it never mattered.
The children still died.
No sign of an intruder.
No fingerprints.
No strange marks—nothing but absence.
People began to whisper that it wasn't a person at all.
That it was something older, something unseen.
A curse.
And the city was a trap.
Those who tried to leave—parents clutching their newborns, or entire families hoping to escape—were always found dead the next morning, their bodies drifting in the still, black water of the pond just outside town.
No one knew why.
So the people stayed.
And they stopped having children.
---
That night, at exactly 8 p.m., the sound of the front door opening broke the heavy silence.
Albert stepped inside, the faint winter chill still clinging to his coat.
"Lily!" he called cheerfully from the doorway.
"Look, I brought your favorite sweets today—"
The words faltered halfway out of his mouth.
Lily was sitting on the couch, her hands resting limply in her lap.
Her face was pale, the skin around her eyes pink and swollen.
The tracks of dried tears still streaked her cheeks, like the faded remains of some storm.
The small paper bag in Albert's hand crinkled as he set it down on the nearest desk.
He crossed the room in quick, purposeful strides and knelt in front of her.
His hands found her shoulders, holding her gently but firmly.
"What happened?" His voice was quiet but urgent. "Why are you crying?"
She didn't answer right away.
Her lips pressed together, trembling faintly, before she reached to the coffee table beside her.
From it, she picked up the small pregnancy test.
She didn't speak—just placed it in his palm.
Albert stared down at it.
Two red lines.
His head lifted, eyes wide.
"What? How?" He glanced at her, searching her face for answers.
"We used every precaution—every single time—"
Lily didn't reply.
She couldn't.
The rest of the night passed in quiet.
They sat together on the couch, Albert's arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder.
No more words were spoken—only the unspoken mix of joy, what we can even call that , dread, and helplessness settling between them like an uninvited guest.
They stayed like that until the lamp's oil burned low, the room sinking into shadow.
To be continued…