TRANSMIGRATED INTO MY FAVOURITE NOVEL THREE YEARS BEFORE THE APOCALYPSE

Chapter 1 Nadia's POV “Get up and leave! Leave that building! Those people are not your family, so why are you still there? How can you be so stupid?” I yell at the book in my lap, glaring at the woman on the page as though she can hear me. The moment I sit up, a sharp pain shoots through my chest. I suck in a breath and press a hand against it. For a few seconds, I stay still, waiting for the pain to ease. When it finally does, I sink back against my pillows, breathing carefully through my nose. Great. Now I'm hurting myself over a fictional woman's terrible decisions. “I'm talking to you, Nadia! Get up and leave!” Somebody coughs on the other side of the ward and I look up, and the woman in the next bed is watching me over the top of her blanket. I give her an awkward smile. "Sorry," I mutter. She glances at the book in my hands, “Is that book really that interesting?” I glance at her, then at the novel in my hands. “No. It's actually very annoying.” She gives me a curious look before turning away, apparently deciding that whatever is happening between me and my book isn't worth her attention. I don't blame her. I'm lying in a hospital bed, seriously ill, shouting at printed words as though the woman inside them can hear me. But the nurse gave me this book, so technically, this is her fault. She brought me this novel, probably hoping it would give me something to think about besides the fact that I was laying here. It worked, although I doubt she expected me to become so emotionally invested that I'd start yelling at the characters. I'm sure anyone reading this right now would also have my reaction. Because the storyline is infuriating, the characters are annoying. The book is an apocalypse novel, It's the sort of story I love. Unfortunately, the original heroine is making me question my taste in books. Nadia Bennett, had spent three years doing everything possible to keep her husband and family alive. Three years. While the world outside was falling apart, she kept her family safe inside their building. She used her wealth and the supplies she'd stored before everything went wrong to feed them, protect them, and make sure they had somewhere secure to live. While other survivors were fighting over scraps of food and searching desperately for clean water, her family had a roof over their heads and food on their table. They barely had to experience the worst of the apocalypse because Nadia took care of everything. And what did she get in return? Betrayal. I turn back a few pages, my grip tightening around the book. When Nadia became pregnant, her husband and family demanded that she terminate the pregnancy. They were afraid she would no longer be able to provide for them if she had a child to care for. Apparently, three years of sacrificing everything for them wasn't enough. They still expected her to put their needs before her own. But Nadia wanted her baby. And because she refused to give up her child, her family reported her to the authorities as infected, knowing full well that the authorities were hunting infected people. Her own family handed her over to people who could have killed her. Her sister even stole her belongings as she was taken away, leaving her with nothing. I press my lips together, trying to contain my anger. How do you do that to someone who has spent three years keeping you alive? Outside, the world is a nightmare. Food is scarce, clean water is almost impossible to find, and contaminated supplies can make people sick. People steal from one another, attack strangers for what little they have, and some have become so desperate that they resort to eating human flesh. Nadia knows all of this. She knows how dangerous it is to be alone, especially with the authorities searching for her. And yet, she survives. She moves between camps, struggles for food, and does whatever she can to keep herself and her unborn baby alive. Somewhere along the way, she meets a man who helps her when she has almost nothing left. I turn to the passage about the man who saved her. For three months, he stayed with her after her family betrayed her and left her to survive alone. He shared his food, protected her, and kept her alive when the world was becoming more dangerous by the day. When the authorities finally caught up with them, he sacrificed his life so she could escape. He died for her. I tap the page with my finger. “He gave his life so you could live, and you went back to the people who betrayed you?” Her family apologised, cried, and begged her to return. She was hungry, exhausted, and desperate to believe they had changed, so she accepted their apology and went home. I understand wanting to believe that the people you love can change. What I don't understand is why she had to put herself back in their hands to find out. The world is in the middle of an apocalypse. People are struggling to find food, shelter, and somewhere safe to sleep. She could have gone to a survivor camp, found another settlement, or asked someone else for help. She'd already survived so much on her own, and the stranger had given her a chance to keep going. Instead, she returned to the people who sold her out. Now she's bleeding after drinking the contaminated water they gave her, and she's begging her mother for medicine to save her baby. And her mother is stroking her hair, pretending to comfort her. I close my eyes. “Why would you do this to yourself?” I asked painfully. “Easy, Nadia. Calm down.” I turn to find Grace standing beside my bed, looking from me to the novel. “I'm calm.” “You were shouting loud enough for the whole ward to hear you.” “Because your book is making me lose my mind.” “My book?” “You gave it to me, remember?!” Grace pulls a chair closer, trying not to laugh. “I gave you something to read, not permission to exhaust yourself arguing with fictional characters.” “You should have warned me about the heroine.” “What's she done now?” I open the book to the page where Nadia is begging her mother for medicine. “Her family betrayed her, the man who protected her died saving her, and she still went back because they said sorry. Now she's bleeding, her baby might die, and she's begging the same people who hurt her to help her. What am I supposed to do with that?” “Perhaps she wanted to believe they'd changed.” “Then she could have believed it from somewhere else!” Grace laughs, and despite myself, I smile. “ I was so excited few days ago because the heroine had my name. I thought I'd be reading about a clever woman who knew how to survive anything.” “And instead?” “Jesus Christ, was I disappointed.” Grace laughs harder, and I point at her. “Don't laugh. You're the one who gave it to me.” “I didn't write it, Nadia.” “Well, someone needs to explain to the author that an apology isn't a magic spell.” “Maybe you should write your own version.” “Don't tempt me.” She shakes her head, still smiling, then notices me shifting against the pillows. “Are you hurting?” “A little. I'm fine.” “Please don't get yourself worked up. Your condition is serious, and I don't want you making yourself feel worse.” I know she's right. Even sitting up too quickly can leave me breathless these days, but I hate being reminded how little my body can manage. “I'll behave,” I promise. Grace gives me a doubtful look. “Mostly,” I add. She adjusts my blanket before standing. “Try to rest. I'll come back in a little while.” “Fine. But if I start shouting again, it's the author's fault.” “Of course it is. But you know shouting isn't good for your health, so be careful.” She walks towards the door, and I call after her. “Grace?” She turns. “Thank you for the book.” Her expression softens. “You're welcome, Nadia.” Once she's gone, I settle back against my pillows and look at the novel. Honestly, this woman is going to be the death of me. Not that I have much time left anyway.