Aria’s POV
The knocking ca again.
Soft. Tentative. Almost hesitant.
My heart kicked into overdrive. Every nerve in my body suddenly screaming danger.
I was on my feet before I could think. My eyes darted around the dim living room, searching for anything I could use to defend myself.
The flashlight.
Heavy. tal. Sitting on the side table where I’d left it after the last power outage.
I grabbed it. The weight was reassuring in my palm. Not much of a weapon, but better than facing whatever was out there with bare hands.
The knocking ca a third ti.
Quieter now. Almost like whoever was out there was losing courage. Or hope.
I crept toward the door. Each step deliberate. Careful. The floorboards under my feet seed impossibly loud in the silence.
My apartnt had never felt so dark. So isolated. The soft glow from Lina’s nightlight down the hall only made the shadows in the living room seem deeper. More threatening. Like they were alive and watching.
I pressed myself against the wall beside the door. Held my breath. Listened.
Nothing.
No voices in the hallway. No footsteps shuffling outside. No sounds of multiple people waiting to rush in the mont I opened the door.
Just profound, unsettling silence.
Maybe they’d left? Maybe it had been a mistake? Soone at the wrong apartnt?
But my instincts were still screaming. Sothing was wrong. Very wrong.
I leaned forward slowly. Carefully. Brought my eye to the peephole.
And my blood turned to ice.
A small figure stood in the hallway.
A child.
I could barely make out the details through the fish-eye distortion of the lens. Dark hair plastered wetly to a small head. Clothes that looked completely soaked through, clinging to a tiny fra. Thin shoulders hunched forward, trembling against what must be bone-deep cold.
My mind raced.
What the hell?
A child. Alone. In the middle of the night. Standing at MY door.
This didn’t make sense. Nothing about this made sense.
But I couldn’t just leave a kid out there. Not in the middle of the night. Not alone and clearly in distress.
My hand was on the doorknob before I could second-guess myself.
I yanked it open.
The figure’s head snapped up.
And my heart stopped.
Completely, utterly stopped.
Because I knew that face.
Those features I’d spent five years trying to forget. Trying to move past. Trying to reconcile with the painful mories they represented.
That delicate bone structure. That shape of the eyes. The curve of the chin.
But this child was older than the last ti I’d seen her. Taller. The baby softness gone from her face, replaced by the sharper angles of a growing girl. Her hair hung in wet, tangled strands around her face, so much longer than I rembered.
"Lilith?"
The na ripped from my throat. Strangled. Barely audible even to my own ears.
The little girl’s face crumpled instantly.
Her whole body started shaking. Not just shivering from the cold—though she was clearly freezing. This was sothing deeper. Violent tremors that made her teeth chatter audibly. Made her look like she might collapse right there in the hallway.
"M-mommy?"
The word was so small. So broken. So full of desperate hope and absolute terror and bone-deep exhaustion all tangled together.
It hit like a physical blow.
She took a step forward. Her movent jerky. Uncertain. Like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.
Then another step.
Then she launched herself at .
Her small body crashed into mine with surprising force. All sharp elbows and bony knees and desperate need. Her arms wrapped around my waist in a death grip. Her face buried against my stomach. Her whole fra shaking so violently I could feel it through my clothes.
And she started crying.
Not quiet tears. Not gentle weeping or soft sniffles.
Sobbing. Deep, wrenching, gut-tearing sobs that shook her entire fra. The kind of crying that ca from sowhere deep and dark and absolutely terrifying. The kind that spoke of trauma and fear and complete desperation.
"Mommy!" The word ca out muffled against my shirt. Choked. Desperate. "Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!"
Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a lifeline. Like the only word she rembered.
I stood there.
Frozen.
My arms hovering awkwardly in the air. Not touching her. Not pulling her close. Not pushing her away.
Just... frozen.
Because this was Lilith.
My daughter.
The daughter I’d given birth to after eighteen hours of labor. The daughter I’d held for the first ti in that hospital room, counting her tiny fingers and toes, marveling at the miracle of her. The daughter I’d nursed through endless sleepless nights. Changed countless diapers. Sang to when she couldn’t sleep.
The daughter who’d grown to look at with disgust in those beautiful eyes.
Who’d called "slly" in front of Finn’s family. Who’d preferred Celestia’s expensive perfu to my natural scent. Who’d pushed away when I tried to hug her. Who’d cried when I ca to pick her up from school because the other kids would see.
The daughter who’d broken my heart into a thousand pieces. Who’d made question everything about myself as a mother.
The daughter I’d failed.
"Mommy, please!" Her voice cracked on the word. Raw. Terrified. "Please don’t send away! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’ll be good! I promise I’ll be good! I promise!"
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