"NOT ALL OF HER RETURNED''
I push the door open, the hinges whining softly in the quiet hallway, and step into Mary's room. The bed is empty,sheets tossed aside, pillows dented, the faint shape of where she should have been still impressed into the mattress. A sharp, unwelcome panic crawls up my throat. Did she slip out again? Did she disappear into the night the way she sometimes threatens to, leaving only the weight of her absence behind?
I turn, already preparing myself for the worst, and see her standing by the window. Her nightgown drifts gently with the breeze leaking through the old frame. She's utterly still, except for the slight tremor in her shoulders. Her hair hangs over her face as she stares into the darkness outside, almost as if something is calling to her from beyond the trees.
"Mary?" My voice is a whisper. It feels wrong to speak louder, like I might shatter her if I do.
She doesn't turn immediately. When she finally moves, it's slow,mechanical, almost. She looks over her shoulder, and her tear streaked face catches the dim light. Something inside me twists.
"I can't go back," she breathes. Her voice is thin, the sound of someone fraying at the edges.
"Alright… alright, don't go back." I lift my hands slightly, trying to steady both of us. "Just calm down. We can talk."
But the words barely leave my mouth before she breaks. A raw, agonizing cry rips from her and she collapses to the floor, curling into herself, rocking with the force of her sobs. "I'm sorry! Oh God—I'm so sorry! I wasn't nice to you… I'm sorry, Father…" Her voice splinters and she hides her face against her knees.
It genuinely hurts to watch her unravel like this. I move to her side and ease myself down beside her. "It's alright… I forgive you," I murmur, my tone as gentle as I can keep it. "Hush now..please." I wrap my arms around her trembling frame, pulling her against me as she cries into my shoulder, her fingers clutching desperately at my clothes as if she might drown without something to hold onto.
After a long while, her breaths come a little slower,still shaky, but no longer tearing out of her. She lifts her face. Her tears cling to her lashes,her nose is red, her eyes swollen. She looks painfully young, like she's shrunk down to the frightened child I used to know.
"Tell me what happened," I ask softly.
She swallows and looks away, shame flickering across her features. "I went to Siren Valley," she starts. "I wanted to audition. It's… small, but actors start from there, right? I thought maybe…" Her voice falters, and her mouth twists in disgust. "The director—Dante Black,he told me he'd give me a role. And I was stupid enough to believe him." She wipes at her face quickly, almost angrily. "He just wanted to fuck me. Kept me waiting, dangling everything like some sick little game. I'm… I'm such an idiot."
Her voice breaks again. "And when I told him that I am pregnant,when I told him what this was doing to me-he said it was my fault. He said I brought it on myself." Her chest tightens and the tears come back, spilling fast. I pull her against me before she collapses again.
"That disgusting piece of shit…" I whisper harshly, brushing her hair back from her damp cheeks. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I'm here, okay? You're not alone."
I press a soft kiss to her forehead, wiping tear after tear from her cold, pale skin.
She sniffles, looking up at me with eyes that make her look like she's seven again,caught after some innocent mischief, seeking reassurance. "What about… Father?" Her lower lip trembles. "What if he-"
"Don't worry," I tell her, stroking her back. "He'll understand. He's just relieved you came home."
She nods slightly, though the fear doesn't truly leave her eyes. It never does.
A beat passes. Then, barely audible, she whispers, "What about… the baby? Should I kill it?"
My heart stutters. For a moment the room feels too still.
I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Hey. Come to your senses. You cannot do that. The child has no fault in this."
She stiffens, her gaze drifting past me and she slightly nods.
When I finally stand to leave, she is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window again. Her posture is eerily calm, hands resting silently in her lap. She looks almost hollow, as if her soul is still somewhere on that cold floor, crying.
I hesitate at the doorway. Every instinct begs me not to leave her alone,not with how fragile she is, not with the things she just said, not with the tiny life inside her that she seems to be holding at arm's length.
"Promise me you won't kill the baby," I say quietly.
There's a long stretch of silence.
Then, a soft, empty: "…yes,I promise."
It doesn't ease me. Not really.
The door closes behind me, and the sound feels too final in the dim, haunted hallway.