The house was quiet. Too quiet.
The woman sat on the cold floor of her dimly lit living room, one hand resting on her swollen belly. A single tear rolled down her cheek and vanished into the fabric of her worn-out dress. The overhead bulb flickered weakly, casting shadows across cracked walls. Outside, the city moved on without her, unaware of the storm building inside this one-room home.
She wasn't alone, but she had never felt lonelier.
Her husband was away, said he'd return after a business meeting, but it had already been two days. No calls. No messages. The old, chipped phone lay silent beside her like a dead thing. Her heart ached with the heavy weight of not knowing. Would he come back? Was he okay? What would happen to their child if something went wrong?
She looked around— peeling paint, empty kitchen shelves, unfinished walls. A tiny pair of socks lay folded in the corner, untouched since she'd bought them from a roadside stall, still clinging to a dream she could barely afford.
She whispered to her unborn child, voice trembling, "I don't know what's going to happen, baby. I don't even know if I'll be here tomorrow. But I promise… somehow, I'll protect you."
Silence answered. And then—
"I will take care of your baby."
The voice was soft and Feminine but not hers. She froze.
Her breath caught in her throat as she turned sharply, eyes wide, scanning the room. "Who's there?" she asked, trying to sound stronger than she felt.
Nothing. Just the distant buzz of a ceiling fan from a neighbor's room.
She stood up, wobbling slightly under the weight of her belly, and looked toward the entrance.
The door was locked. Windows shut. No one outside. Her heart pounded.
She stepped into the hallway, barefoot and shaken. Moonlight spilled across the floor, cold and silent, but no shadows moved. No voices followed.
Maybe it was stress. A dream. A trick of the mind. But in her heart, she knew what she heard was real.
And she didn't know whether to feel comforted… or cursed.
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