When The Raven Screams My Baby Dies

Watching my own parents turn on me, an icy emptiness bloomed in my chest.

I’d never told them about the first two forced miscarriages. I hadn't wanted to worry them or cause a war between our families. So, I had shouldered all the grief alone.

This time, I had finally reached out, hoping for their protection, their support. But I was a fool. They had sided with Alistair and Beatrice, joining the chorus demanding I sacrifice my child.

I clutched my stomach, my body wracked with silent sobs that soaked into the expensive Persian rug.

No one was on my side. I was utterly alone.

I saw the open garden door and made a break for it, but Alistair and Beatrice were too quick, blocking my path. My continued resistance finally made their patience snap.

Alistair had the bodyguards seize me and hold me down while Beatrice returned from the kitchen, a bowl of some dark, viscous herbal concoction in her hands.

Ice flooded my veins. I scrambled backward, tears blinding me. "Beatrice, please… I’ve given this family everything. Please, just let this child live! I'll do anything, just let me keep him! He's only three months old, he's done nothing wrong! Please, give him a chance…"

I even turned to my parents, my voice a shredded whisper. "Mom, Dad, please help me. I've already lost two children. I can't lose another one. I'm your daughter! How can you just stand there and watch them do this to me?"

I cried until my throat was raw. I tried everything, but not one of them showed an ounce of mercy. Their eyes were cold, filled only with a steely determination to destroy the life inside me.

Before forcing the bowl to my lips, Beatrice murmured, "If the oracle says the child cannot be kept, it cannot be kept. Don't blame us, Clara. This child simply isn't blessed."

Alistair nodded. "You can always have another. This one is no great loss."

Their words were so casual, so dismissive.

My parents remained silent, but their silence was a deafening roar of agreement.

And I was left heartbroken, drowning in grief and despair as the memories of my first two stolen children came flooding back, each loss as sharp and vivid as the day it happened.