(Author POV)
Elira hissed as the ice bag pressed against her swollen cheek, the cold biting sharply into her skin and making her wince. "Slowly, Nila… it hurts," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as if sheer willpower could somehow dull the sting.
Nila's hands were gentle—too gentle for the kind of world Elira was used to—careful and precise as she cleaned her face and wrapped the bandage around it. "Okay, okay, just bear with it for a few minutes," Nila said softly, her tone steady, almost comforting, and that alone felt strange. Comfort wasn't something Elira trusted. It usually came with a price.
Then came the words that made her mind glitch, like something inside her just… short-circuited. "I will ask Father not to do this to you again."
"No, no! He would have been angry with you too!" Elira blurted immediately, panic twisting tight in her chest. The reaction was instant, instinctive. She didn't even think before speaking—because she knew. She knew how it worked.
One mistake, one wrong move, and suddenly the punishment doubled, tripled, spread like a disease. Her mind spiraled, sharp and fast—this is my fault, it's always my fault, why does it always become my fault?
Nila paused, then tilted her head, looking at her like she had just said something ridiculous… and then she laughed. Softly. Lightly. Like nothing was wrong.
Elira frowned, confusion knitting her brows together as her golden eyes narrowed slightly. That sound—laughter—felt out of place. Wrong. Like it didn't belong in this moment at all.
"Elira," Nila said, still smiling, her voice calm, certain in a way Elira could never afford to be, "they are my parents. They would never hurt me."
And just like that, the word hit.
Parents.
It didn't slam into her—it sank. Slow. Heavy. Like something dangerous disguised as something soft. Elira went still, her thoughts stuttering for a second. Parents. She had heard the word before. Whispered. Thrown around casually by others. Sometimes even used like a weapon. You don't have parents. You were abandoned. No one wanted you.
But no one had ever told her what it actually meant.
Her fingers curled slightly against her lap. Her voice, when it came out, was quieter than she expected.
"Nila… who are parents?"
Nila blinked, clearly surprised. "You… don't know?"
Elira shook her head slowly. No shame. No pride. Just… truth.
"Parents," Nila said, her voice softening, turning almost gentle, "are two people who bring you into this world. They take care of you, protect you from harm, support you… and make you happy."
She smiled when she said it.
That smile.
Elira noticed it immediately.
Because it didn't look fake.
And that… that pissed something off inside her.
"Like… my parents?" Elira asked, her voice quieter now, unsure, like she was stepping into something fragile that might break under her feet. "My mom and dad?"
The words felt strange. Wrong. Like they didn't belong to her mouth.
But the question stayed.
If that's what parents are… then where the hell are mine?
Later, when Nila left, the room felt different. Quieter. Colder. Or maybe it was just her.
Elira stood in front of the cracked mirror, staring at her reflection like it might finally give her an answer. Her dark black hair fell messily around her face, framing those golden eyes she had learned to hate—no, not hate… fear. Because those eyes had always made people look at her differently. Like she wasn't normal. Like she wasn't right.
"Is it because I'm ugly that they abandoned me?" she whispered, her voice low, raw, almost accusing. "Is it my eyes? Because no one likes me… because they call me a freak?"
Her reflection didn't answer.
Of course it didn't.
"You abandoned me because I'm a freak, right?"
The silence felt louder than any insult.
As she grew up, she didn't just hear those words—she absorbed them. Every cruel comment, every insult, every look of disgust… they didn't pass by her. They stayed. They settled deep inside her bones until they started sounding like her own thoughts. Freak. Monster. Mistake.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe there was something wrong with her.
The nights were the worst. Always the nights.
Curled under that torn blanket, cold air slipping in through the broken window like it had a personal grudge against her, her body trembling from hunger, from pain, from exhaustion that never really let her rest. The slaps from Mr. Ron still burning on her skin. The darkness from when Mrs. Malry locked her in that suffocating room. The laughter of other children. The slow, painful change in Nila… from warmth to distance… from kindness to something that hurt just as much as everything else.
It all piled up.
Layer by layer.
Until breathing itself felt heavy.
And still… she prayed.
Every night.
Quiet. Desperate. Almost silent.
"Please… Mom, Dad… come get me from here. I can't live like this."
She never cried loudly. She learned that lesson early. Loud pain only brought more pain. So she swallowed it. Held it in. Let it destroy her slowly instead of quickly.
But inside?
Inside she was breaking apart.
If anyone had seen her like that… really seen her… they would have felt it. That kind of pain wasn't small. It wasn't something you could ignore.
Nila had said parents protect their children. Give them happiness.
Then where were hers?
Why weren't they here?
Why didn't they want her?
Was she really that unlovable?
Her chest tightened painfully as those questions circled again and again, never stopping, never answering.
"Please, God… give me my parents," she whispered, over and over, like repeating it might somehow make it real.
Day after day.
Night after night.
Hoping.
Waiting.
Breaking.
But no one came.
And slowly, painfully, Elira learned something no child should ever have to learn—
Hope doesn't save you.
Sometimes… it's the thing that destroys you the most.