Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

Sasha woke to a dull, throbbing pain pressing mercilessly against her temples. It pulsed with each heartbeat, a rhythmic reminder of how little rest she'd found. Her eyelids felt unnaturally heavy, swollen and sore from too many nights spent chasing sleep that never came. Even as she tried to move, to shake off the fog weighing her down, her limbs refused to cooperate—stiff and sluggish, as if invisible chains bound her to the bed, pinning her in place beneath their relentless grip.

The stiffness in her muscles was unbearable. Every joint ached, radiating a deep soreness that felt far older than her years. Each breath she drew scraped against her ribs, shallow and strained, like her lungs carried the same oppressive weight as her body. It wasn't just exhaustion—it was bone-deep depletion, a fatigue no amount of sleep seemed able to cure.

She lay there motionless, eyes unfocused, fixed on the ceiling above. The slow whirl of the fan broke the silence, its blades stirring the thick, stagnant air. But the soft breeze it created did little to ease the heat clinging to her skin, nor the heaviness pressing down on her chest.

Her phone buzzed faintly from the nightstand beside her, the vibration cutting through the quiet like an unwanted reminder of reality.

With sluggish, almost reluctant fingers, she reached over, swiping the screen to life. The glow felt too bright, the harsh light searing into her sensitive eyes. Squinting, she caught sight of the time displayed at the top of the screen—**7:43 AM.**

Her stomach sank, a hollow sensation settling low.

*Work.*

She should get up. Should force herself to go through the motions—get dressed, put on the practiced smile, teach a classroom full of expectant faces as if she weren't slowly unraveling inside. But the very idea felt insurmountable, like scaling an impossible height when she barely had the energy to stand.

Her limbs refused to budge. Her body begged for mercy, craving rest that felt perpetually out of reach. Her mind echoed with a louder plea: silence. Just a moment of quiet from the chaos spinning behind her eyes.

Before she could second-guess herself, she unlocked her phone, her thumbs hesitating briefly before typing out a quick, clipped message to the principal, informing them she wouldn't be coming in today. She didn't offer an excuse—she had none left to give. The moment she hit send, a small sigh escaped her lips, and her eyelids fluttered shut once more, the screen dimming in her slack hand as sleep reclaimed her.

Hours blurred past in hazy fragments.

When she stirred again, the room felt different—brighter, the stale heaviness slightly lifted. Sunlight bled through the thin curtains, casting streaks of gold across the floorboards, painting warmth onto her skin that contrasted the cold hollowness lodged deep in her chest.

She blinked blearily, limbs stiff as she forced herself to shift. A glance at the clock on her phone—**10:16 AM.**

Her breath left her slowly, her hand moving to rub at her swollen, gritty eyes. The headache had dulled from a sharp throb to a muted pressure, but the ache in her chest, the weight pressing down on her ribs, lingered like something permanent.

Dragging herself from the bed, she padded to the bathroom, her steps slow, almost mechanical. Without bothering to check the temperature, she twisted the shower knob to cold, stepping beneath the frigid spray without hesitation.

The shock of the icy water stole her breath. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as droplets raced down her heated skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Shivers racked her spine, but she welcomed it—the bite of cold cutting through the lingering haze, numbing her senses just enough to offer temporary relief.

For several minutes, she stood motionless beneath the stream, eyes closed, forehead pressed lightly to the cool tiles. Letting the water drum against her back, drowning out the restless thoughts clamoring at the edges of her mind.

Eventually, she shut the water off, the silence deafening as droplets trailed down her arms.

In the bedroom, she dressed with no particular care—reaching for a crisp white shirt, buttoning it slowly, deliberately, before slipping on a pair of tailored trousers. The neutral tones felt safe, blank, mirroring the emptiness curled inside her.

She glanced at her phone again, more out of habit than expectation. The screen remained void—no new messages, no missed calls.

She stared at it a beat longer before setting it back down.

Not that she had truly expected anything else.

In the kitchen, her movements were detached, almost robotic. She slid two slices of bread into the toaster, retrieved the jar of jam from the fridge. As the bread browned, she stood motionless, eyes distant, fingers tapping absently against the countertop.

When it popped up, she spread the jam in slow, even strokes, each action feeling unnecessarily heavy. She took a bite without tasting, chewing mechanically while her mind drifted elsewhere, lost in the static hum of thought.

Something felt… off.

It wasn't just the fatigue. Wasn't just the persistent dull ache riding her shoulders or the way her body seemed foreign lately, betraying her in small, unsettling ways. The dizziness, the nausea that crept up without warning, the strange heaviness dragging her down—they had become too familiar. Too frequent.

And then, her mind snagged on something she'd brushed off once, maybe twice.

Her hands stilled over her plate, jam-laden toast forgotten.

Her cycle.

She'd missed last month. Told herself it was the stress, the chaos of everything spiraling out of control. *Next month,* she'd whispered in quiet reassurance. *It'll come.*

But today's date flashed bright on her phone's lock screen.

**The seventh.**

A sharp, uncomfortable twist coiled in her stomach.

She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the sour taste lingering in her mouth. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was simply worn down, her body drained, running on fumes. Deficient, lacking something—iron, vitamins, whatever people claimed fixed things like this.

That was all it had to be.

Her hands shook slightly as she pushed her plate aside, uneaten toast forgotten. Grabbing her bag and keys without bothering to clean up, she made her way to the door, fingers tightening around the cool metal handle.

She didn't let herself pause. Didn't allow herself the time to second-guess, to let creeping doubt sink its claws in.

The air outside felt heavy as she stepped out, but she barely registered it.

All she knew was she needed answers before the questions became too loud to silence.

The hospital smelled overwhelmingly of antiseptic, sharp and sterile, layered beneath something faintly medicinal—a scent that seemed to cling to her skin, pricking at her nerves. It wasn't just unpleasant; it was unsettling, a reminder of vulnerability and things beyond control.

Sasha sat stiffly across from the doctor, her back straight, legs crossed tightly at the ankles. She recited her symptoms with a practiced, almost clinical detachment—fatigue, dizziness, missed period—as if listing them mechanically would keep them distant, manageable. She barely met the doctor's gaze, expecting the usual response: maybe a prescription for vitamins, perhaps a suggestion to rest, a few routine blood tests to rule out anything serious.

Instead, the doctor paused, studying her with a calm attentiveness that felt too heavy, too deliberate. The pause stretched, tugging at the edge of Sasha's composure.

"I'd like you to take a pregnancy test," the doctor said gently, voice measured but firm.

Her breath snagged mid-inhale. For a moment, it felt like all the oxygen had been drained from the room, leaving her lungs hollow, her chest tight.

"…What?" The word scraped out of her throat, hoarse and disbelieving, as if she hadn't heard correctly.

The doctor remained composed, her expression unreadable. "Your symptoms strongly align with early pregnancy signs. A test will confirm or rule it out."

Sasha's laugh came out thin, brittle—almost a scoff. "That's not… that's not possible." She shook her head, forcing out the words, but they landed flat. "I thought maybe I was low on iron. Or something like that. Vitamins. Not…" Her voice faltered, unable to finish the sentence, as her pulse roared in her ears.

"There's no harm in taking the test," the doctor said, still calm, her tone soft but unwavering, as if speaking to someone on the brink of panic.

Sasha's hands felt suddenly ice cold, resting uselessly in her lap.

Her mind rebelled violently against the suggestion, scrambling for alternative explanations. Anything else. It couldn't be. It *couldn't.*

But beneath that frantic denial, something colder—sharper—pressed in.

A small, quiet voice whispered, *What if it is?*

The nurse appeared beside her, offering the test kit without a word. Sasha's fingers closed around it mechanically, her body moving as if disconnected from her mind. She stood, walking toward the restroom like someone wading through water, each step heavy, unsteady.

Inside the small, clinical space, her hands trembled so badly she struggled to tear open the packaging. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as she followed the instructions, willing herself to focus on the task rather than the chaos swirling inside her.

Then she waited.

The silence in the tiny stall felt oppressive, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides.

Seconds stretched unnaturally long, the air too still, too loud with the sound of her own rapid heartbeat.

And then—

A second line appeared.

Positive.

Her chest seized. For one agonizing moment, she forgot how to breathe.

Her fingers tightened painfully around the plastic stick, her eyes refusing to blink, as if staring hard enough would somehow erase what she was seeing.

No. No, it had to be wrong.

Desperation flared hot under her skin as she stumbled back to the nurse, barely managing to ask—no, demand—a second test. Her voice shook, her words clipped and frantic.

She returned to the restroom, this time her movements jerky, almost frantic. She repeated the steps, her breath hitching with every tick of the second hand on the clock.

And again—

Positive.

The world seemed to tilt sideways, the floor beneath her feet suddenly insubstantial.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out every rational thought.

*This isn't real.*

*This can't be happening.*

Her legs felt numb as she forced herself to leave the stall, gripping the positive test like it held the weight of her entire existence.

She stumbled back to the doctor's office, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing too loudly, the sterile walls closing in around her.

She couldn't even meet the doctor's gaze when she spoke, her voice barely more than a rasp. "It's… positive."

The doctor gave her a soft, knowing smile, misreading her pale face and shaking hands. "That's all right. We can proceed with your maternal care—"

"No." The word shot out sharp, jagged, almost panicked. Sasha shook her head, swallowing hard as her throat threatened to close. "I'm not— I just—" She couldn't form the words, her mind spiraling faster and faster, fragments of fear and disbelief crashing into each other.

The doctor, misunderstanding her distress, reached for the stethoscope and placed it lightly against her wrist, murmuring something meant to be soothing.

But then—

"There are two heartbeats."

Time fractured.

Her entire body went rigid, her eyes snapping up to meet the doctor's calm face.

"…What?" Her voice was barely audible.

The doctor nodded slowly, her tone patient. "There are two."

Sasha's stomach twisted sharply, nausea clawing up her throat.

Her pulse became a wild, erratic drumbeat, thudding violently against her ribs.

*Two.*

Not one. *Two.*

Her lips parted, but nothing coherent came out—only a choked, breathless sound lodged in the back of her throat.

Tears blurred her vision before she realized they had formed, slipping down her cheeks unchecked. The doctor, mistaking them for overwhelmed joy, handed her a glass of water, offering another placid smile.

But Sasha felt like she was sinking, the ground crumbling beneath her.

The walk out of the hospital was a blur, her body moving automatically, her mind somewhere far away. The world outside looked too bright, too loud, almost like a dream she couldn't quite touch.

She climbed into a taxi without thinking, barely registering the driver's polite greeting. The ride passed in fragmented snapshots—traffic lights bleeding into each other, pedestrians walking by in slow motion, the city noise dull and distant.

When she reached her apartment, she didn't bother taking off her shoes. She headed straight for her phone, hands still shaking as she unlocked it.

Her banking app opened, the numbers staring back at her.

Her balance was pitiful. A cruel joke.

Her throat tightened. Rent. Food. Medical care. It spiraled in her head like a vicious storm.

She could barely survive alone. How was she supposed to survive now?

Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Everything inside her felt too tight, like she was shrinking under the weight of it all.

And then—

The doorbell rang, sharp and jarring.

She inhaled shakily, forcing herself to move toward the door.

When she opened it, Samuel stood there. Concern etched deep into the lines of his face, his brow furrowed as he looked at her.

"You're okay?" His voice was soft, cautious. "You left work suddenly."

Sasha swallowed hard, forcing a smile that felt brittle, hollow. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a headache."

Samuel didn't move, his eyes scanning her face too carefully. "You seem… upset."

She shook her head too quickly, the motion jerky. "It's nothing."

He hesitated, clearly unconvinced. "Sasha… you know you can tell me. I might be able to help."

Something inside her snapped like a frayed wire.

"Can you stop with your nonsense?" Her voice came out sharp, biting. "I don't need you to fix anything. I can take care of my life."

Samuel flinched slightly, hurt flashing briefly in his eyes, but he masked it quickly. "Okay." His voice remained steady, measured. "Maybe you just need space."

"Yes." The word shot out too fast, too forceful, like a shield. "Please. Just go."

He held her gaze for a beat longer, then exhaled slowly and turned, walking away without another word.

Sasha closed the door harder than necessary, the finality of it ringing in her ears.

She leaned back against the wood, her fingers curling tightly against the frame.

And then—finally, without pretense—she broke.

The tears came hard and fast, unstoppable. Her body folded in on itself, trembling as silent sobs wracked through her. No one was there to see her fall apart. No one to reach for her, to hold her steady.

She was alone.

Utterly, terrifyingly alone.