Move! Move!.The stretcher rattled beneath me, wheels clattering against the polished hospital floor. Nurses ran alongside, their hands pressed firmly against the blood‑soaked bandages covering my abdomen.
Their faces were tight with urgency, eyes darting between the monitor strapped to my chest and the crimson spreading beneath their fingers.
"She's crashing—keep the fluids going!" a doctor barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos.
The corridor stretched endlessly, sterile and unforgiving. White walls glowed under harsh fluorescent lights, their brightness stabbing into my half‑closed eyes. The air smelled of antiseptic, sharp and metallic, mingling with the faint odor of blood.
The double doors to the operating theater swung open, spilling a flood of cold brightness into the hallway.
Inside, surgeons stood waiting, instruments lined in neat rows on stainless‑steel trays. The hum of machines filled the room, steady and unrelenting, like the ticking of a clock counting down my life. They pushed me under the lamps. The lead surgeon snapped on his gloves, leaning forward, prepared to fight for my survival.
My vision blurred. Is this how it ends? After everything… will it all be for nothing?
The room filled with the metallic clink of tools, the rush of voices, and the rhythm of commands. For a moment, everything hung between life and death.
---
Hours later, the patient room door opened slowly. A middle‑aged man stepped inside, stethoscope around his neck, white coat brushing against his knees. His steps were steady, carrying the weight of news.
He moved closer to the bed. I lay there, pale, my wrist tethered to a drip line. My long black hair was messy across the pillow, strands falling into my face. The faint hum of the monitor filled the silence, each beep marking the fragile rhythm of my survival.
"Miss Reed," the doctor said, holding a file as he glanced through it. His tone was calm, but his eyes carried heaviness. "You are out of immediate danger."
I looked up, lips trembling as I tried to force a smile. "Thank you, doctor," I whispered, my voice thin, almost breaking.
But his voice continued, heavier now. "There was a problem. We were unable to save your pregnancy."
The words struck me like a blow. My chest tightened, my heart racing. No… not again. Why must everything be taken from me?
The monitor beside me spiked, its beeping rising in alarm.
"Nurse! Quickly!" the doctor shouted, moving toward me as panic spread across my face.
The nurse rushed in, syringe ready. She leaned close, voice urgent but soft. "It's going to be okay."
The needle slid into my skin. Cold medicine flowed through my veins. My heartbeat slowed, my vision dimmed. Maybe it's better if I don't wake up… I thought faintly, before darkness pulled me under.
---
My name was the only thing the world had given me at birth. Thalia. I had been found wrapped in a red cotton coat at the orphanage gates. I didn't remember it, of course — I had been told the story by the staff. But the image haunted me. In my mind, that coat became proof of how unwanted I had been from the very beginning.
The orphanage crouched at the edge of the city like a forgotten ruin. Its walls were cracked, paint peeling in long strips that curled like dead skin. The corridors smelled of dampness and mold, the kind of odor that clung to clothes and hair no matter how often I washed. At night, the wind whistled through broken window frames, carrying the chill straight into the dormitory where children huddled under thin blankets.
Life there was far from pleasant. My earliest years were filled with bullying and abuse.
I became known in the orphanage for my sharp mind. I won awards for my school and for the orphanage, my intellect shining even in the darkest corners. But success bred envy. Other children grew jealous, and I became their target.
I was too weak to fight back. Every insult, every blow, I endured in silence, keeping the pain locked inside. If I cry, they'll laugh. If I fight, they'll hurt me more. Better to stay quiet.
The adults turned away, busy embezzling the funds meant for our care. Food was scarce, bowls often filled with thin porridge or nothing at all.
For me, it was worse. Small and frail, I was an easy target. My belongings were stolen, my days filled with taunts and cruelty. Nights were colder, lonelier, as I lay awake staring at the cracked ceiling. Why did they leave me? Why didn't anyone want me?
At fourteen, a spark of hope appeared. I earned a scholarship to Sliversaint Academy, a prestigious school known across the city.
When I received the news, I believed my life was finally about to change. Maybe this is it. Maybe God hasn't forgotten me after all.
Sliversaint Academy lived up to its reputation — grand iron gates, gleaming marble corridors, and classrooms filled with the children of privilege. The uniforms were immaculate, and even the air carried a refined scent, a blend of polished oak and costly fragrance. Crossing its threshold, I resolved that my past would not dictate my destiny. This is my moment. I refuse to squander it. I will prove I deserve my place here.
But fate was cruel.
The academy was built for the wealthy, the powerful. Though my brilliance shone — I topped every class, my extraordinary intellect undeniable — my secret could not stay hidden. When the students discovered I was an orphan, a nobody, their envy turned to scorn.
The torment began again. The academy became a mirror of the orphanage, filled with whispers, insults, and isolation.
Every day was a test of endurance. I walked the halls with my head lowered, my books clutched tightly, my heart heavy with the same loneliness I thought I had escaped. Why does it always repeat? No matter where I go, I'm still the orphan girl. Still unwanted.
And just when my world seemed ready to collapse once more, a new light entered my life. His name was Ryan.