Episode 5- A NEW RESOLVE
707 Words
By the time I got back to my apartment, the sun had already gone down.
The streets were quiet. The breeze was gentle. But my mind was louder than ever. Thoughts spun like a hurricane, tearing through every corner of my brain. My steps were slow, uncertain, but something inside me had shifted.
Seeing those children earlier — their wide eyes, their innocent laughter — it did something to me. Like a hand had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. Their joy, their purity... it made me realize that the life growing inside me deserved a chance to feel that too.
> "I’m keeping it," I whispered to myself in the mirror that night, my reflection tear-streaked but firm. "No matter what happens, I’ll give this child a life worth living."
Sleep came quickly, and for the first time in weeks, I didn’t wake up gasping in fear or choking back sobs.
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Morning light spilled through the windows like hope. It was golden, soft, and full of purpose. I stretched under my blanket, the stiffness in my limbs easing for the first time in days. My heart, though heavy, beat with a quiet kind of strength.
I had toast — two slices with a thick layer of peanut butter — and hot tea, which I barely tasted. I didn’t eat because I was hungry. I ate because I had to. Because there was a tiny heartbeat inside me that needed me to be strong.
I packed my sketchbooks, laptop, pencils — tools of a life I was desperately trying to hold onto. It was time to return to school. Time to blend in. Time to pretend that everything was normal.
Even if nothing was.
I was in my 4th year studying architectural design — a beast of a course that demanded late nights, endless drafts, and creativity squeezed dry. But today, I felt… ready. Not just to draw buildings, but to rebuild my own broken walls.
By 8:30 a.m., I was seated in the studio for Professor Samson's class. The room was exactly as I remembered it — reeking of pencil shavings, sweat, and burnt-out ambition. My classmates were hunched over sketches, chatting, sipping coffee from stained mugs.
And then I saw her.
Mabel.
She sat at the edge of the class, her face hidden behind her phone screen. No smile. No wave. Just cold indifference.
My stomach twisted.
I stood up, walked toward her slowly, like approaching a sleeping snake.
“Hey, Mabel,” I said, my voice soft but steady.
She looked up. Her eyes brushed past mine like I was a stranger.
“Oh... hey,” she muttered, and turned back to her phone.
That was it.
No hug. No warm giggle. No "I missed you." Just a chill that pierced through my chest.
What was going on?
All through the lecture, I could barely hear Professor Uche. He droned on about spatial balance and light projection, but my mind was on fire. Mabel had always been my ride-or-die. My wing woman. My shoulder. And now? She was a wall.
I kept glancing at her. She didn’t glance back.
I thought about the party. The drink she gave me. The way she vanished. The blurry memory of the man who carried me — his scent, his voice — all smeared in confusion. And Mabel, always so loud, so bold, suddenly so... silent.
> What does she know? Why won’t she look at me?
When class ended, I didn’t hesitate.
I grabbed my bag, stormed after her through the crowd.
“Mabel, wait!” I called out. “Let’s go to the cafeteria together. Like old times.”
She paused, stiffened, turned halfway.
“I have somewhere to be,” she said. Quick. Flat. Dismissive.
Then she disappeared down the hallway.
Gone.
I stood there, breath caught in my throat, surrounded by students buzzing past like bees, completely unaware that my world was crashing again.
She’s hiding something, I thought, clutching my bag. And I won’t rest until I know what.
The baby inside me wasn’t just a secret anymore. It was a reason. A mission.
And Mabel? She was the missing piece of a mystery that I could no longer ignore.
- Writer
