The woman held the small, cold body in her arms, rocking gently as her back slid down the wall of the supply closet. The dim light above flickered, casting shadows that danced across her face. Blood poured steadily from her neck, soaking her tattered clothes and pooling beneath her.
But she didn't flinch.
She didn't scream.
She only held him closer—his tiny, zombified mouth latched to her skin, teeth sinking deeper, tearing her open.
The pain blurred her vision. The world dimmed.
They say when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes.
And it did.
But it wasn't filled with joy or laughter or warmth.
It was cold. Dull. Forgotten.
She saw herself—an infant born from an affair, discarded like trash. Her mother had died shortly after giving birth, and her father never came. She was thrown into an orphanage before she could even form a memory.
She grew up invisible. Unwanted.
Beaten. Mocked. Broken.
