Kidnapped - A Beautiful Blessing

The soft light of early morning filtered through the sheer curtains, casting delicate patterns across the walls like faint, shifting shadows. The pale glow touched everything—gentle and indifferent—spilling over the worn furniture, the small clock beside the bed, and finally, over Sasha herself.

Beneath the thin blanket, Sasha lay unmoving, her body weighed down by a bone-deep exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. She didn't open her eyes right away. Instead, she let the silence wrap around her, pressing against her ears like cotton, dull and heavy.

It had been another sleepless night.

Her pillow was still damp, the fabric cool beneath her cheek where tears had soaked through hours ago. Her throat felt raw, tight from the effort of swallowing sobs she hadn't allowed to escape. She had cried until her entire chest had throbbed, until every muscle had trembled from the force of emotion she couldn't voice, and yet—even after her body finally surrendered to sleep—it hadn't granted her relief.

The ache followed her into unconsciousness, a relentless thing that curled beneath her ribs like a parasite, coiled tight around her lungs. It was there in her dreams, waiting in the shadows when she woke, seeping into every corner of her being.

A lump formed in her throat as the familiar weight settled heavier. She wanted to cry again—right here, in the quiet, while no one was watching. But she didn't. What good would it do? Tears hadn't solved anything last night, and they wouldn't now.

The heaviness hadn't eased. If anything, it had grown denser, like concrete poured into her chest, hardening with every passing breath, making each inhale feel like a deliberate, painful effort.

Slowly, mechanically, she drew in a breath and forced herself to shift. Her head turned on the pillow, her tired eyes blinking open just enough to glimpse the small digital clock perched beside her bed.

**6:30 AM.**

Her breath caught, sharp and immediate.

*Damn it. She would be late.*

Panic flickered faintly beneath the exhaustion, a dull throb instead of the sharp spike it used to be. She couldn't afford this. Couldn't risk it. Not when the fragile stability she'd scraped together felt like it could collapse with the slightest nudge.

Missing work wasn't an option. Not when every paycheck mattered—rent looming, groceries calculated to the last cent, unpaid medical bills gathering dust in the drawer like silent threats. She was already walking a tightrope. One wrong step, and it would all come crashing down.

Forcing herself upright, Sasha swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet met the cold, unyielding floor, and a shiver crept up her spine—but she didn't flinch, didn't allow herself the luxury of reacting.

Every movement felt automatic, like muscle memory guiding her through the motions when her mind barely registered them.

Step into the bathroom. Wash her face. Get dressed. Leave.

The cracked mirror above the sink caught her reflection, and she paused, staring at the stranger staring back. Pale skin stretched too thin over sharp cheekbones. Hollow eyes, darkened by sleepless nights. Lips pressed tight, holding back words she never let out loud.

For a moment, something inside her tugged—something dangerously close to self-pity. She shoved it down.

She turned the faucet and splashed cold water over her face, hoping the shock would chase away the haze clinging to her, but the sensation barely registered. The exhaustion was deeper than the surface, embedded under her skin where no amount of cold water could reach.

She dried her face quickly and dressed in silence—a faded blouse, a pair of worn trousers. Simple, practical. Nothing special. She hadn't bought new clothes in months; there were too many other things demanding her money, all of them more important than vanity.

In the kitchen, she reached for the half-empty loaf of bread, tearing off a slice without bothering to check how stale it was. The bite felt dry in her mouth, tasteless. She chewed mechanically, her gaze unfocused.

There was no time for breakfast. No time for anything, really, except survival.

Her fingers drifted toward her phone on the counter, hovering there.

Should she call a cab?

The thought made her stomach twist. It would get her to school on time—solve this one immediate problem.

But her hand faltered. Almost unconsciously, she reached for her wallet instead, flipping it open.

Empty. Nearly empty.

The sight hit her harder than it should have. Rent would be due in a matter of days. Groceries wouldn't stretch much longer. And then there was the envelope of medical bills tucked away in her drawer, growing fatter by the month.

A cab today might mean no dinner tomorrow. Might mean scraping for change when the landlord came knocking.

Her fingers curled tightly around the worn leather, her jaw locking as guilt churned deep in her stomach. She hated how it felt—this constant weighing of one sacrifice against another, knowing that no matter how carefully she calculated, she'd come up short somewhere.

But she couldn't be late.

Her heart thudded dully in her chest as she made the decision, thumb brushing over her phone screen before she tapped to hail a cab.

The cost gnawed at her before she even stepped outside.

The ride passed in silence, the driver making no attempt at conversation—a small mercy. Sasha kept her gaze fixed out the window, watching the city blur by. The streets, the people, the gray skyline stretching beyond. Everything moved around her, indifferent, untouchable.

And as the cab sped forward, the question surfaced quietly in her mind, a thought she couldn't shake.

**Would it always be like this?**

This constant hunger. This endless tightrope walk. This ache beneath her skin that no amount of sleep or sunlight seemed able to ease.

By the time Sasha reached the school gates, her chest felt tight, like she'd been holding her breath for miles.

The faint ache in her legs reminded her she hadn't slowed down once, almost as if stopping would let her thoughts catch up.

She paused for only a second, taking in the familiar worn-out sign and the chatter of students drifting from inside, before pushing forward.

There was no time to gather herself—no moment to recalibrate.

Inside, the hallway smelled faintly of cleaning detergent and sun-warmed paper.

She kept her eyes low, moving quickly past the classroom doors, hoping to make it to the staff room without interruption.

Her hand was already reaching for the doorknob when—

"Hi."

The voice was unmistakable.

**Samuel.**

He stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall like he belonged there, his smile carefully easy.

"Hey," he greeted again, his tone threaded with concern. "How are you today?"

Sasha's response came without thought, automatic and hollow.

"Fine."

The word landed between them, flat and cold, leaving no room for follow-up.

But Samuel's eyes narrowed slightly, catching on something she couldn't hide.

"You still don't look well." His voice dropped, quieter now, almost hesitant.

She felt the weight of his gaze but didn't bother acknowledging it.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders. "I have a class," she said curtly, the clipped edge in her tone sharp enough to cut.

The message was clear—**Don't push.**

But Samuel had never been one to take the hint easily.

She could already see the persistence brewing behind his eyes, the way he shifted as if preparing to say something else.

Sasha didn't give him the chance.

She turned swiftly on her heel, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she walked away, leaving his unsaid words hanging in the air.

Her plan had been to head straight to the classroom, bury herself in the routine.

But something inside her veered off course.

Without thinking, she found herself slipping through the side door, stepping outside toward the open school grounds.

The field stretched before her, empty except for a lone staff member methodically watering the grass.

The faint scent of damp earth clung to the air, mingling with the distant hum of the city beyond the school walls.

Water splashed rhythmically onto the soil, the steady sound oddly calming.

She sank down on the concrete steps bordering the field, her shoulders slumping as though she'd been carrying something far too heavy.

Her hands rested limply in her lap, fingers twitching with the urge to curl into fists but remaining still.

Her gaze drifted, unfocused, tracing nothing in particular.

For a moment, she let herself unravel, her mind spiraling to the same inescapable place.

She couldn't keep doing this.

The paychecks that barely stretched far enough, the relentless calculations, the pressure gnawing at her like a predator waiting to pounce—

It all felt like a chain tightening around her throat, leaving her gasping.

And now…

Almost without realizing, her hands moved, hesitating before settling against her abdomen.

The simple gesture felt monumental.

Her stomach twisted.

There was no more margin for error.

No more space to falter.

The thought landed heavy, crushing, like a boulder pressing against her chest.

Suddenly, laughter cut through the haze.

Sasha blinked, her head snapping up.

A cluster of students had spilled onto the field, their voices bright and careless as they jostled each other.

Something inside her softened imperceptibly, the heaviness lifting just a fraction.

She stood, brushing off her skirt, forcing her spine straight.

The heaviness would have to wait.

"Line up," she called out, her voice carrying across the field.

The students scrambled into position, their movements infused with the kind of energy she envied—unburdened, unthinking.

She led them through warm-ups, counting out each stretch and jump with mechanical precision.

One, two, three—

Her voice steady, her body moving on autopilot.

It was something tangible she could control, something that pushed back the storm of thoughts threatening to drag her under.

But no matter how much she moved—

No matter how much she tried to silence it—

**The worry clung to her ribs like a bruise that wouldn't fade.**

By lunchtime, the stiffness in her limbs was accompanied by a dull headache.

She sat in the staff room, unwrapping the modest meal she'd packed earlier.

The sound of chatter, clinking cutlery, and distant laughter filled the space, but Sasha remained detached, lost in her own bubble.

She had barely managed a few bites when she sensed someone approach.

She didn't need to look up to know.

Samuel.

"You're having lunch," he observed, his tone neutral but edged with something she couldn't quite name.

"I was hungry."

Her reply was flat, offering no invitation for further conversation.

For a moment, he stood there, hovering.

Then, without a word, he sat down beside her, unpacking his own food with deliberate movements.

The silence between them was thick, stretched taut like a thread about to snap.

Sasha focused on her meal, chewing mechanically, refusing to meet his eyes.

She could feel it—

The unspoken weight of everything Samuel wanted to say.

The hope he kept carrying, fragile but persistent.

But she had nothing to give him.

Not her attention.

Not her warmth.

This lunch, simple and sparse, mirrored everything between them.

He wanted more—a connection, a future, something real.

But all she offered him was empty space, the hollow absence of what he longed for.

Her heart had never been his to win.

Even now, even here, the shadow of another man held it captive.

Even in Darius's absence, she was bound—

Tethered by memory, by guilt, by something far more powerful than Samuel's quiet patience.

She finished eating without a word, rising from the table without sparing him a glance.

Samuel watched her go, the faint crease between his brows deepening.

His eyes lingered on her retreating figure, his thoughts a restless loop.

**How could he reach her?

How could he be enough?**

As they left the staff room and walked toward the washrooms, the silence stretched again, taut and impenetrable.

Samuel matched her steps, searching for an opening, a flicker of acknowledgment.

But when she reached the corridor, she didn't wait.

Her pace quickened, pulling ahead without hesitation.

Samuel slowed, exhaling quietly.

Then, unwilling to give up, he jogged a few steps to catch up.

Still, she never looked his way.

Never gave him so much as a glance.

And he understood, painfully, as he walked beside her—

He could try to keep pace with her all he wanted.

But her heart was always somewhere else, far beyond his reach.

After school ended, Sasha didn't go home.

Instead, she stood outside the school gates for a long moment, letting the afternoon bustle pass her by, before quietly hailing a cab. She murmured the hospital's address to the driver, her voice barely audible.

The ride felt both too short and endless. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her stomach a tight coil of nerves. Every bump in the road echoed the uneven rhythm of her heartbeat. By the time the cab pulled up in front of the hospital, her palms were damp, her breath shallow.

The moment she stepped inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic hit her sharply, filling her lungs and tightening her throat. The bright, spotless corridor lights buzzed faintly overhead, adding to the hollow stillness pressing around her.

A nurse directed her to the examination room, and moments later, the doctor entered, offering a warm, familiar smile.

"Hello, Sasha. How are you feeling today?" he asked gently, his voice soft as though careful not to startle her.

She forced her lips into a polite curve, but no words came. The question lingered unanswered in the air, too heavy for her to meet honestly. She could only offer a stiff nod.

The doctor didn't press further. Instead, he gestured toward the examination table. "Shall we proceed with the checkup?"

Another nod. Her throat felt thick, constricted, so she stayed silent, moving mechanically to lie down as instructed.

The cool paper crinkled beneath her as she settled in place, exposing her growing belly. She swallowed hard when the doctor prepared the ultrasound machine. The room felt far too quiet, save for the faint humming of the machine, the occasional scribble of the doctor's pen, and the distant murmur of voices in the hallway.

The gel was cold as it spread across her skin, sending a shiver up her spine. Sasha stared at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing, her hands tightly clasped over her chest as though holding herself together.

Then the doctor moved the probe gently over her stomach.

The screen flickered to life.

For a split second, it was just gray static—but then, a shape emerged. A tiny, unmistakable form.

"There's the baby's head," the doctor murmured, pointing to the outline.

Sasha's breath caught painfully in her throat.

Her eyes locked onto the screen, unblinking, her chest tightening as if a hand had gripped her heart and squeezed mercilessly. Her lips trembled. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision.

She couldn't tear her gaze away.

She saw the fragile curve of a head, faint flutters of movement—the heartbeat echoing softly in the room, so quick and delicate it felt like it could disappear if she blinked.

Her throat convulsed. A sob threatened to spill out, but she pressed her lips together tightly, trying to contain it. Still, tears slid silently down her cheeks, leaving warm, wet trails.

She was happy. Overwhelmed with it, in a way that almost frightened her.

So, so happy.

And yet—

Her heart ached with an unbearable heaviness, an emptiness she couldn't quiet.

**Darius.**

His name resounded in her chest, a silent, desperate cry.

She missed him. God, she missed him so much it physically hurt.

She wanted him here.

She wanted him to see this—to see their child flicker on the screen, to hear that tiny heartbeat echoing in the quiet room. To share this fragile, miraculous moment beside her.

But he wasn't.

And the ache hollowed her out, leaving nothing but sharp edges and longing.

Her fingers clenched into the hospital sheet beneath her, curling tightly as her body trembled. She tried to swallow past the lump rising in her throat, but it was useless.

Tears kept falling.

She'd spent so long pretending—pretending she was strong, pretending she didn't care, pretending she had moved on.

But here, in this sterile room, watching her child move inside her, she shattered.

Every wall she'd built crumbled.

And in that quiet breaking, she found herself wishing for something she shouldn't.

Something impossible.

She wished—fiercely, helplessly—for Darius.