The birthday with no cake
The bell rang once-soft and low, like it had been trying not to wake the dead.Clara opened her eyes in the cold dark of her small cell. She was Nineteen today. But no one had said the word birthday in this place for as long as she could remember. Here, time was something you survived, not something you marked. If she would be here any longer she would never know how birthdays are meant to be celebrated .
She slipped from the cot, her bare feet meeting hard stone. The air in the room was sharp and still, and her breath showed faint in the morning chill. Her hands moved automatically like a robot folding her blanket, tucking her nightdress, tying the belt of her plain gray robe. Everything was silent even colourless. The hinges on her door also knew not to squeal.
The other girls had already gone for prayer. She could hear them breathing through the walls -soft, even controlled. No one was ever late for morning bells here. Clara stepped into the hallway, head down, hands joined in front of her as she had been taught. She was an obedient child after all.
The halls of Saint Mirabel were long and narrow, painted pale-white, lit by narrow windows too high to reach. The only sounds were the echo of her feet and the faint rustle of robes coming from the hallway. No talking was allowed in the morning or in the evening. Or during most hours, really. Silence wasn’t a rule here. It was air.
She passed the chapel door, glancing inside. The others were kneeling in two neat rows, heads bowed. She saw Sister Agnes glance at her, then look away. Sister Agnes never liked when Clara was late or anyone for that matter.
Clara hesitated—then turned toward the west corridor instead. That’s when she knew something was wrong.
The corridor was empty. No sisters, no girls. Only light pooling from the high window, dust floating in it like ash. She rarely came this way. No one did, unless summoned. Her heart beat faster as she stopped in front of the only door at the end.
Mother Superior’s office.
The door was already open.
She knocked anyway-two soft taps. A pause. Then stepped in.
Mother Honoria sat behind her dark desk like she was part of it—thin, straight-backed, wrapped in black. Her face was long and pale, lips pressed so tight they looked like a scar. She didn’t look up.
“Come in, Clara.”
Her voice was sharp and papery. Clara stepped forward. The door swung shut behind her with a click. It sounded louder than anything else had all morning.
“Do you know what today is?”
Clara blinked. That was not a question anyone ever asked here.
“Yes, Mother.” Her voice came out smaller than she meant.
Mother Honoria looked up now. Her eyes were pale gray, cold and unreadable. She folded her hands.
“You were left on our doorstep nineteen years ago today,” she said. “You were barely a day old. Wrapped in linen and tied with red string. No name. No letter.”
Clara stood still. Her eyes were void of any emotions but her body turned pale.
“It has always been our way to raise such children in silence and discipline,” Honoria continued. “To give them the tools to become useful , humble and modest.” She paused. “You have not always shown yourself worthy of this gift.”
Clara flinched. “I—I’ve tried—”
“You are curious,” Mother Honoria said flatly. “You ask questions when no one has asked you to speak. You think too much of the self. You linger in hallways. You touch books you were not told to touch.”
She stood.
“You are not to return to chapel today.”
Clara’s mouth opened and closed again.
“You are being sent away.”
The words landed with a quiet thud inside her chest.
“I… sent?” , she blabbered.
“Your time here is finished. Our debts are many, and one of our benefactors has made a generous offer. You will leave this morning. His carriage is already waiting.”
Clara’s fingers curled against her skirt. Her breath came shallow. “Who is he?”
“That is not for you to ask,” Mother Honoria said. “You belong to him now. I hope you will learn from him".
The words made Clara’s skin prickle. She stared at the woman behind the desk. “What does he want with me?”
Mother Honoria’s lips pressed thinner. “You will go where you are told. No questions asked. Its time for you to return our favour”
The silence stretched.
“Pack your things. You are to bring only what was given to you. Nothing from the library. Nothing from the kitchens. You are to speak to no one.”
Clara opened her mouth again but her voice was gone.
