The Bride No One Wanted

Chapter Four

Linda’s POV

The nausea started slowly, like a whisper I tried to ignore. But it grew louder every morning, twisting my stomach and making me dizzy on my way to work. I brushed it off at first. I told myself it was stress, the long hours, and the lack of sleep. Until one day, I realized I hadn’t had my period. Not even once.

Fear sank into me like a stone. I locked myself in the tiny bathroom of my apartment and held the small plastic stick with trembling hands. Two pink lines. My chest tightened, my stomach knotted, and my legs shook.

Pregnant.

I swallowed, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t go away. My parents wouldn’t care; they never did. Livia would laugh and show off how perfect her life was. No one had ever cared about me, really. And now, this little life depended on me.

Tanya. Only Tanya.

I met her years ago through a summer mentorship program. She was older and confident, in her late twenties, someone who noticed me when no one else did.

She guided me, encouraged me, and taught me to survive without letting the world crush me entirely. She didn’t pity me. She just saw me. And now, she was the only person I could turn to.

I left that night. My bag was heavy with clothes and the few bills I had saved. The streets were wet, quiet, and unforgiving.

Every step away from home made my chest ache with fear, but I couldn’t stay. I made it to her city by dawn, breathless, exhausted, and terrified.

Tanya opened her door before I could knock. “Linda,” she said softly. Her eyes studied me as if she already knew everything. I didn’t have to speak. She had always known. She led me inside, handed me a towel and tea, and pointed me to the small room she had prepared. Safe. For the first time in weeks, I felt something like relief.

Living in a new city with a growing belly wasn’t easy. I took odd jobs wherever I could—cleaning, helping in a small bakery, waiting tables. Every penny went into saving for the day I would need medical care. I learned to hide the swelling and to smile and laugh when customers glanced too closely.

Nights were long, and exhaustion became my normal. I counted coins, cooked simple meals, and clung to Tanya’s words when I wanted to scream or cry.

The months passed slowly and painfully. I watched my body change, every kick and flutter reminding me of the life inside me. There were moments I broke down, sitting on the floor of my tiny rented room, wishing I could disappear entirely. But Tanya never left my side. She cooked for me, helped me with appointments, and reminded me that I wasn’t alone.

I grew cautious. I didn’t go out unless necessary. I saved the smallest amounts. I avoided calling anyone I knew. Livia and my parents didn’t care whether I lived or died. I had to make this work for me and him—the little boy I hadn’t even named yet.

When labor came, it came with no warning and no mercy. Pain ripped through me, primal and overwhelming. I clutched Tanya’s hand, digging my nails into her skin, trying to hold onto something solid as everything else dissolved into fire.

The hospital lights were harsh, and antiseptic burned my nose as nurses moved quickly around me. I barely registered them.

Hours blurred. Every scream and groan tore more from me than I thought possible. Then, a cry cut through the haze—a sharp, tiny wail that made my heart stop. He was alive.

A nurse held him first, swaddled carefully, checking his breathing and tiny movements. I couldn’t hold him yet. My body was shaking, spent, every muscle screaming. Tanya squeezed my hand to keep me grounded. “He’s perfect,” she whispered. But the words barely reached me.

The nurse placed him in a small bassinet after bathing him, keeping her eyes on him as she adjusted the swaddle.

The hours after birth were a blur. Exhausted, sore, but alive, I finally held him properly in my arms. His tiny fingers curled around mine, and I whispered his name softly, feeling a warmth I had never known. Tanya sat close, guiding me and helping me feed him.

For a moment, everything felt still. The world outside didn’t matter. I had him. My son.

Then I noticed the nurse lean closer, her brow furrowing. I followed her gaze, my heart racing.

“Ms. Linda,” she said quietly, but the edge in her voice made my stomach drop. “He’s not breathing properly. I need to take him for a closer check.”

I froze, panic crashing through me. “No,” I whispered, clutching him tighter. “He’s fine, he’s fine…”

“He’s strong, but I need to make sure,” the nurse insisted, gently but firmly lifting him from my arms. My fingers grazed his tiny body for a split second, and then he was gone from my reach.

Tanya placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’s okay. We’re still here. You’ll see him.”

I followed them to the glass window of the neonatal room in pain. My eyes locked on him, so tiny and fragile, lying on the soft bed as the nurses worked quickly. My heart raced, every beat screaming terror. I had given birth, named him, and fed him. But now, for the first time, I could do nothing.

My chest tightened. My throat burned. My son’s little body moved under the nurses’ hands, every tiny flicker making my stomach twist in fear. And at that moment, I realized this was only the beginning of the battles I would have to fight for him.