Born between goodbye

Before she became the girl everyone pitied, she was once a child born from love. Real love. The kind that made people stop and stare quietly whenever her parents walked through the market together. Her father was a government architecture officer — educated, respected, and admired in their small town near the western coast of Sumatra. He spent his days drafting building plans at the district office, wearing neatly ironed shirts and carrying rolled papers beneath his arm. Her mother was younger, softer, and beautiful in a way that drew attention naturally without trying. She did not work. After marriage, she remained at home while her husband cared for nearly everything. And he loved caring for her. Sometimes too much. Every evening after work, he returned home with small gifts — sweet bread wrapped in paper, fruits from roadside stalls, ribbons, perfume oils, anything she once mentioned liking even casually. People envied the way he looked at her. As though she alone made life worth enduring. When she became pregnant, his devotion deepened even further. He stopped allowing her to do household chores alone. He woke early to prepare breakfast before work. During heavy rainstorms, he checked the windows repeatedly because she feared thunder would disturb the baby. For a while, happiness lived peacefully inside their home. Then one evening, while rain drummed softly against the roof, she whispered a strange craving. She wanted wild bird meat. Not chicken. Not duck. A forest bird. The kind rarely hunted anymore. At first he smiled, thinking pregnancy had simply made her whimsical. But when he saw how serious she was, he promised to find one for her himself. And the next morning, before sunrise, he entered the forest. Day after day, he searched before work. He returned muddy, exhausted, mosquito-bitten, yet still empty-handed. But he never complained. “You don’t have to keep trying,” she told him one night quietly. “I want to,” he answered. Then finally, after weeks of searching, he found one trapped low between wet branches after heavy rain. He carried it home proudly beneath the storm, shoes ruined by mud, clothes soaked entirely through. When she opened the door and saw him standing there smiling with the bird in his trembling hands, she laughed so hard she cried. That night, she cooked while he sat nearby watching her with tired but content eyes. Rain fell endlessly outside. Inside, the small house glowed warm beneath yellow light. And for the first time, their unborn daughter moved strongly inside her mother’s womb. Neither parent knew then that the child would one day spend her life searching for the same love she was born from. Or that love itself could disappear so quietly. Like rainwater slowly rotting wood from the inside. Until one day the entire house collapses.