A Stranger's Mercy
454 Words
Dawn broke over the outskirts of Northwood, casting golden rays across the countryside. The wooded hills just beyond the city limits were still drenched from the storm, the roads slick with mud and fallen leaves.
Vivian Renfield rarely drove herself. But today, she needed the solitude. She had spent the previous evening alone in her estate, drowning in thoughts and unsent letters. The Renfields had long held a quiet power in Northwood—rivals to the Golds, yes, but dignified, respected.
And yet, something had compelled her to rise early and drive. Perhaps it was fate—or simply a need to breathe something cleaner than estate air.
She turned a corner onto a narrow forest trail.
And stopped.
Smoke. Blackened trees. The scent of burnt metal.
Vivian stepped out slowly, heels crunching on gravel, her eyes narrowing as they scanned the wreckage of what looked like a van completely gutted by fire. Authorities must have already come and gone. There was no tape, no flashing lights.
But her instinct screamed: Look closer.
She moved toward the slope—and then she saw it.
A small form, barely visible under leaves and soot, curled like a fallen bird beneath the bend of a broken branch. Her breath caught.
“Oh my God…”
Vivian knelt, brushing the dirt from the girl's face. A child. Maybe ten. Barefoot, scraped, and unconscious. Her dress—shimmering pink beneath the ash—was ruined. A clip hung loose in her hair.
She reached to check her pulse.
Alive.
Barely.
“Help!” she called her driver. “Call Dr. Rowan. Tell him to prepare the house.”
“Should we call the police—”
“Not yet,” Vivian snapped. “She needs care first. Now move.”
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Hours later, in a guestroom lined with cream-colored curtains and old books, the girl opened her eyes.
Vivian sat beside her, dressed simply now, her face composed but curious. She watched as the child blinked, looking around with slow, uncertain movements.
“You’re safe,” Vivian said softly. “Can you tell me your name?”
The girl opened her mouth. Nothing came.
Tears welled, not from pain—but from confusion.
“Do you remember anything?”
A pause. Then a shake of the head.
Vivian’s heart clenched. The child was completely alone, floating in a world that had forgotten her name.
“Then we’ll start from the beginning,” she whispered. “Until you remember, we’ll call you… Alina.”
The girl blinked. Slowly. Then nodded.
Vivian exhaled.
In that moment, two fates—once bound by rivalry—were now tied by something far stronger.
Mercy.
And a lie that would grow with time.
- Writer
