Six years ago

I have been sitting on a bench, bringing my legs to my chest. The day turned into afternoon, the afternoon turned into evening and evening turned into night but I didn't change my position. By now, my stomach was grumbling with hunger and my whole back was aching but somehow, it didn't make me want to move.

It took me very long to realise that I was not alone now. I had another tiny human being feeding on me and now, it's my responsibility to eat something for his sake.

He was my only hope. I couldn't lose him too.

When I finally stood up, a tiny wave of dizziness hit me but I gained balance soon after. Dragging myself to a nearby store, I bought a carton of juice and a packet of biscuit. While I was paying the bill, my eyes landed on the landline phone placed on the counter.

No. Don't you dare Clara. Not after what you did.

The sane voice in my head stopped me from doing that but the lonely part of me won the argument and I asked the cashier if I can use the phone in exchange of some money.

My hands trembled as I dialed Dad's number. I thought he might forgive me once I tell him about the baby. Picking up the receiver, I waited for him to answer but no voice heard from the other side.

Sighing in dejection, I dialed Mom's number but same response.

I was not good with numbers so the only other phone number I remembered was their office. Dad often stayed there till mignight so there was a high chance he was still there.

After trying one time, a feminine voice answered form the other side.

"Is it Rachel?" I asked. She was Dad's secretary.

"No. It's Amanda. Who do you want to talk?" she replied in a professional tone.

"Um.. Can I talk to Mr. Avery?" I asked, hoping that he would not refuse to talk to me.

"Mr. Avery? Are you talking about the owner of Avery textiles?" she inquired.

"Yes."

"I am sorry Ma'am but he is no more." she answered and that's when all the blood rushed out of my body.

"Wh.. What d.. do you mean he is... he is no more? Has he... Has he left the building?" I tried to control my trembling tongue.

"No Ma'am. I'm sorry but as much as I know, he died of heart attack three months back. Her wife sold the company to my boss and moved to Canada." she said but I didn't hear anything after the word 'heart attack'.

Three months back? Does it mean? No. Please no.

Tears were streaming down my face as I cut the call and ran out of the store. I could hear the cashier calling me from behind but if I stayed there any more minute, I would have puked.

Once I was outside, I ran to a corner and spilled my guts out, all the while wiping the tears that were wetting my face. At that moment, I didn't care that somebody was watching me or making fun from me. All I cared about was my Dad, whom I would never see again. He died without knowing how much I was ashamed of my decision and knowing that I was the reason of his death, it just turned my insides into a tangled mess.

Once I had vomited enough, I looked around myself. Few people were around me, watching me with a mixture of worry and disgust. But I didn't want anyone to look at me and see how disgusting I really was. How cruel was the girl hiding behind this face and how she killed her own father.

So I ran.

Forgetting that I was pregnant, forgetting that I had no destination, forgetting that there was nobody following me to save me, I ran.

Many houses, many people, many cars passed by me but I didn't stop, not until I turned around a corner and a car suddenly appeared in front of me out of nowhere, it's front striking against my front and the impact caused me to lose my consciousness.

...

This was the second time I was waking up in a hospital in last few weeks. When my eyes opened, bright light blinded me for a moment and it took me a minute to adjust to darkness.

Once my eyes adjusted, I touched my head and winced when my fingers collided with a bandage. I tried to speak but my jaw hurt a lot. Trying my best, I raised my neck, ignoring the shooting pain arising in my neck. Every part of my body was aching but the part that hurt the worst was my stomach.

Once I successfully raised my head, my gaze stopped on the reddish brown stops on the inner sides of the bottoms of my hospital gown. It didn't take me long to realise what these spots meant and I lay my head back, my eyes glued to the brown ceiling of the room.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" a woman dressed in blue scrubs asked me. She had some test reports in her hand and a kind smile on her caramel skin.

I didn't reply. Because first, it hurt a lot to speak and secondly, I didn't want to. My whole body felt numb and I wanted nothing more than being left alone at that moment.

She took permission for some basic examination. At first, she threw some light into my eyes to check God knows what and then she asked me to wriggle my toes.

"Can you hear me? What's your name, Miss?" she asked again.

"Clara." I whispered and then turned my face to the other side because I knew if I didn't answer, she was not going to silence. After that, she tried to get me to talk again and again but I didn't respond. Her presence irked me when all I wanted was some peace.

Once she left, I closed my eyes and the image of a baby appeared in my eyes. Cute, round face with my red hair and grey eyes of a certain someone.

Maybe it was my fault. After all, I was the one who didn't want a child at the beginning. Maybe it was another punishment for me. Everything was my fault. I deserved whatever happened to me in these last few months and I deserve everything that was going to happen with me.

...

I spent two days in a hospital. When the doctor asked me if she can call someone for me or do I have any address, I just shook my head in no.

She was very hesitant when she told me about the miscarriage. I don't know why but for some reason, she expected me to break down at hearing the news but she was unaware that

Today when I woke up, I found a woman standing beside my bed. She looked like in her forties, tall and lean, dressed in a knee length summer dress and her hair tied in a bun.

"Hello Clara! How are you feeling?" she asked, smiling wide at me.

I didn't reply.

"I run a private NGO for homeless and needy people." she told me, sitting at my side.

All I offered was a blank face.

"Your doctor is a friend of mine and she said you could use some help." she informed me.

And I offered no reply. Instead I just kept staring at her, without bothering to show any response.

"We need your signatures on these papers so that once you get discharged, we can shift you to the NGO home. That's if you consent. But if you have someone who can help you with a place to live, we are willing to contact that person." she added.

"I don't have anyone." I whispered. That was the first thing I had said in two days.

Pity was clearly written on her face as she listened to me. "You have us, dear. We are a group of almost 50 women that lives under the same roof. We would be lucky to have you with us."

I have nothing to lose. Even if she was a cheat, a liar, a kidnapper or a murderer, maybe that's how my suffering was supposed to end.

"Where do I sign?" I whispered and she passed me a genuine smile.

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