Elias...
They think she's gone.
The whispers flooded every corner of the city—Young woman disappears without a trace. No signs of struggle. No digital footprint. No clues. But the truth? No one knew where to look. Because no one really knew Luna. Not like I did.
Not like I always have.
She doesn't belong to the world out there anymore. She belongs to me.
Our home is hidden deep beyond reach. No signals. No noise. No paths leading in unless I say so. There's only silence here, and her—soft, wounded, beautiful.
She stopped asking where we were after the third day.
She didn't scream after I showed her the photos. Years of her life—mine. Curated. Catalogued. Treasured. Her walking to work. Laughing at cafes. Staring at shelves in bookstores. Even before she ever saw me at the hospital… I had seen her. Followed her. Loved her from behind the glass of a camera lens and a locked heart.
She knows now.
She understands that this isn't sudden.
It was fate.
Now… she eats quietly. Sleeps beside me. Wakes in my arms. Not willingly—but not resisting either. That's something.
Sometimes, I brush her hair, just to feel her flinch. Sometimes, she lets me.
I knew she was pregnant before she did.
Her skin flushed warmer. She was always tired. She cried easily.
I watched her cradle her belly before she even admitted it to herself.
She tried to hide it.
Tried to hide our beginning.
But the truth finds a way to breathe.
And when our daughter came into the world, into my hands—her tiny cries the first sound to pierce through all the silence—I knew.
Luna was mine.
Finally, fully… eternally.
She hasn't said she loves me.
But she hasn't tried to leave since that night.
She sings to our daughter in the evenings. She rocks her by the fire.
And when I sit across from her, watching the shadows dance along the walls of the home I built just for us…
I whisper her name like a prayer.
> "Love doesn't always look like freedom.
Sometimes, it's a golden cage you never leave—because deep down, you were always meant to be locked inside it."
Luna.....
I gave birth on a cold spring night.
No doctors. No hospitals. Just Elias's hands, steady and strong, catching the child of a mistake.
Or maybe of destiny.
I don't scream anymore.
My throat is tired. My heart, numb.
He named her. I didn't argue.
He kissed my temple as I held her for the first time.
And I cried—not because I was happy.
But because it was over.
There was no going back.
I don't remember the girl I used to be.
She died the night I walked out to meet the man I thought I could avoid.
But there are moments… when the baby coos against my chest, when the firelight hits Elias's face and I see that lost boy again—the one I must have passed by once, long ago—I wonder…
Was this obsession always circling me like smoke?
Was I ever free?
I live in a house no one can find, in a life no one can see.
And yet every breath, every heartbeat, every lullaby whispered in the dark… is mine.
Mine—and his.
> "They say obsession is a sickness.
But maybe it's just love that refused to die quietly."
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𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔼ℕ𝔻