Mirabella
The days blurred into each other.
I kept count the old-fashioned way — scratching lines into the crumbling wall with a rusted nail.
One day.
Two days.
Seventeen.
Thirty-four.
The first month was pure survival.
I ate whatever scraps Damon threw at me. Dry bread, canned beans, old fruit.
Sometimes, nothing for days.But I knew he wasn't a fool to do something extreme.. He wanted this child.. I knew it.. That was his wish..
He would threw old ragged clothes at me to wear.. I would wear so show him that I have become vulnerable.. I tried to kill myself, faked it so he would believe in my misery.. Believing that I am carrying his child..
My body grew weaker. I could feel my ribs when I pressed a hand against my side. But my stomach — it rounded softly, gently.
I took care
