chapter 3

Rushing into the room, my heart hammered against my chest, and a cold sweat clung to my skin. Everything I had been told—the panic, the fear, the uncertainty—seemed to unravel before my eyes. Mimi sat on the bed, looking perfectly fine. No signs of the critical condition I had been warned about. No bruises, no signs of pain. She seemed almost at peace, as though nothing had ever happened.

I froze at the door, unable to comprehend the scene in front of me. Why was she here, sitting so calmly, when I had been told she was in danger? Why had I been led to believe she was on the brink of death?

Mimi glanced up at me, her expression so casual, so detached. "Oh, you're here," she said, her voice light, as though my presence was the least surprising thing in the world. "I can finally leave," she added, her tone almost careless.

"Leave?" I repeated, trying to understand what was happening. "What do you mean, leave? What's going on here?"

She let out a sigh, like this was all too obvious. "You don't know?" she murmured, her voice distant. "It's because of the declining birth rates. Abortion's become illegal. I was pregnant when I left, and now... I had to give birth."

Pregnant? I barely had time to process the information. This was more than I had been prepared for. "What? I wasn't even told about this... Why didn't anyone inform me?" My voice cracked, still struggling to make sense of her words.

Mimi didn't seem fazed by my confusion. "We have a child," she said, as if it was no big deal, her tone flat and distant.

A child? My child? My thoughts spun wildly. This was all so sudden, but a part of me couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. Maybe this was a chance for us. Maybe this was our opportunity to fix everything that had gone wrong. A second chance, a new beginning.

My voice barely made it out as I took a cautious step toward her, "Is it a boy or a girl?"

But instead of the warmth I hoped for, Mimi's face twisted in disgust. She looked at me as though I was nothing more than an inconvenience. "I know what you're thinking," she snapped, her voice sharp and cold. "We can never be together. You can take your trash and live your life alone."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Trash? I couldn't breathe, the air thick with the sting of her rejection. "What… what do you mean?" I gasped, still processing the depth of her coldness. "We have a child! How can you say that?"

Mimi didn't even bother to look at me. "I hope this will be the last time we ever meet," she said, turning her back on me with finality. Her words felt like a door slamming shut between us. She was done. Done with me. Done with us. And nothing I said could change her mind.

I felt the weight of her rejection crash over me. My legs buckled, and I staggered back, fighting the urge to collapse. I had never imagined it would end like this. She was rejecting not only me but our child too.

As I stumbled into the hallway, the doctors and nurses exchanged sympathetic looks, their pity evident in their eyes. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't meet their gaze. I just wanted to leave. I wanted to get out of there, away from everything.

But then, one of the doctors stepped forward, his voice gentle. "Would you like to see your child?" he asked, his expression soft, as though he understood the weight of what I was going through.

I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. "Yes. Please. Take me to my child."

The doctor led me down the sterile hallways, his footsteps echoing in the silence. I was numb, my thoughts scattered, but one thing remained clear—my child. I needed to see them. I needed to know that they were real, that they were mine.

We arrived at a small nursery. The sight inside stopped me dead in my tracks. There, in two cribs side by side, were my children—twins. A boy and a girl. They looked so tiny, so fragile. Their small hands reached up into the air, their innocent faces looking around as if they were trying to understand the world around them.

I stood there for a moment, my chest tight with emotion. They were mine. They were our children. Mimi might have turned her back on them, but I couldn't. I couldn't leave them like this.

Tears blurred my vision, and I reached out to them, my hands shaking as I carefully lifted the twins out of their cribs. I held them close to my chest, trying to comfort them, though I was the one who needed comforting. How could Mimi just walk away? How could she leave them behind without a second thought?

I sat down on a nearby chair, the weight of the children in my arms overwhelming me. They were so small. So innocent. The harshness of the world hadn't touched them yet, and I promised myself, right then and there, that I would protect them. I would be there for them, no matter what.

I stayed in the nursery for a while, just holding them, my tears falling freely. I couldn't stop crying. All the pain, all the anger, all the confusion—it all poured out of me. I cried for the life we had lost, for the future I had dreamed of, and for the children who would grow up without the love of their mother.

Eventually, I stood, the twins still cradled in my arms, and slowly made my way back to my car. The drive home was a blur. I couldn't focus on anything. My hands gripped the wheel tightly, but my mind was elsewhere—swirling with thoughts, regrets, and questions. How could Mimi do this? How could she leave our children?

When I finally got home, I walked inside, the weight of my children in my arms still heavy, but the bond between us already forming. I didn't know what to do next, but I knew one thing for certain—I would raise them. I would protect them, no matter what.

I laid them down on the bed, carefully adjusting the blankets around them. They were so small. So delicate. It felt unreal. I had just learned of their existence, and now, here I was, responsible for their lives.

But as I stood there, looking down at them, something strange began to happen. My vision blurred, and my body felt heavy. The exhaustion, the emotional toll of the day, everything finally caught up to me. My legs wobbled, and before I could even think to react, everything went black.

The last thing I heard, as I collapsed to the floor, was a soft, mechanical voice that seemed to resonate from nowhere:

"Dragon system activated."