Chapter 6
1066 Words
“And she is a young woman,” she said, turning to the local doctor.
The doctor sighed, exhaustion etched into his face.
“Yes, Grandma Nan. She is. If it hadn’t been for you, she would have lost her life.” He paused, his voice softening. “Even though her baby is gone… at least she is safe now. But it will take days before she regains consciousness.”
He gathered his things and straightened.
“I’ll return to check on her,” he said quietly before leaving.
Grandma Nan remained where she was, her gaze settling on the motionless girl. She sighed deeply.
“I wonder what happened to this poor young woman…”
Maya lay lifeless on the narrow bed inside Grandma Nan’s small house. Her face was wrapped in bandages, dried blood staining the cloth, silent evidence of the suffering she had endured. She was still healing, suspended somewhere between life and awareness, unaware of where she was… or who had saved her.
For the next three days, the doctor came back and forth, checking on her daily. Each time, he examined Maya carefully, then left with the same quiet uncertainty. Still, Grandma Nan never lost hope. She took care of Maya as if she were her own flesh and blood cleaning her wounds, feeding her medicine, and whispering prayers beside her bed. Every night, she begged God to let the young woman wake up.
Meanwhile, Maya was trapped inside a dream.
She was falling over and over again.
The fall never ended. It replayed itself endlessly, a cruel loop she could not escape. In the dream, her parents stood on a sun-drenched porch, smiling softly, their arms open as they beckoned her home. Warmth flooded her chest, and for a moment, peace existed.
Then the ground began to shake.
The screech of tires ripped through the air, sharp and merciless, and the world shattered. She was back on those stairs again her body tipping forward, helpless. At the bottom, Damson stood watching. His eyes were cold. Indifferent. He did not reach out. He did not move.
And Maya fell.
Again.
And again.
But finally one afternoon Maya’s eyes snapped open.
A sharp, searing pain tore through her chest, radiating from her stomach to her throat. She tried to scream to howl for the child she could no longer feel moving inside her but only a dry, rasping wheeze escaped her lips. Her throat burned, as though it were lined with shattered glass.
Calloused, warm hands pressed gently against her shoulders, pinning her to the thin mattress. Maya blinked through the haze until the blurred shape above her came into focus an elderly woman with deep-set wrinkles and eyes that carried a lifetime of sorrow.
“You’re in the Land of the Clouds,” the woman whispered softly. “I found you near the ravine. The vi it was a miracle your heart kept beating.”
The village doctor added calmly!
Maya’s hand flew to her stomach.
It was flat.
Empty.
The realization struck harder than the fall down the stairs. A broken, strangled sob tore from her chest as she clutched the tattered blanket, her body shaking with a grief so violent that the elderly woman Grandma Nan and the doctor had to hold her tightly to keep her from ripping her stitches apart.
“The baby…” Maya croaked. The word sounded like gravel scraping against stone.
Grandma Nan did not answer. She only lowered her gaze, a single tear cutting a clean path through the dust on her cheek.
Maya closed her eyes.
The silence of the small room swelled into a deafening roar, pressing in on her from all sides. In that moment, the truth settled deep in her bones:
No parents.
No husband.
No child.
She was truly alone.
The doctor turned to Grandma Nan. “She will calm down eventually. Give her sometime. I will be back to check on her,” then he prepared to leave.
Two days later, Maya finally managed to sit up. Her body felt like a map of bruises every movement a quiet protest but it was her face that felt heavy, tight, unfamiliar.
While Grandma Nan was outside tending the stove, Maya’s eyes caught on a small, cracked hand mirror resting on a wooden crate beside the bed.
With trembling fingers, she reached for it.
She did not recognize the woman staring back at her.
Her skin was pale, hollowed, drained of life but that was not what stole the breath from her lungs. From the corner of her eye, trailing down toward her jaw, ran a jagged, angry red scar. Fresh. Violent.
Bella’s knife.
It wasn’t just a wound.
It was a brand.
A reminder of every sweet word Damson had ever whispered. Every sacrifice she had made. And the cold, merciless truth of their betrayal.
Her vision blurred. Her eyes weakened, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks, silent and unstoppable.
Grandma Nan returned just in time to see her shaking. She hurried to Maya’s side, cupping her face gently.
“What’s wrong, my child?” she asked anxiously. “Are you in pain? Shall I call the doctor again?”
Maya lifted her gaze to her, her lips trembling, her voice splintering.
“My husband… and his mistress did this to me.”
Her voice broke completely.
- Writer
