ALICIA
The prison cell stank of rusted iron, bleach, and old regret.
We were seven in the room. Seven women, one rusted toilet in the corner with no privacy, two torn mattresses shared between us, and a flickering ceiling bulb that never turned off. It was always cold, even when it wasn’t.
I sat on the far end, knees to my chest, silent tears rolling down my face as I pressed my back to the wall.
It had been over a month.
And I still couldn’t believe this was my life now.
Every day felt like I was watching someone else’s nightmare from inside their body. The orange jumpsuit clung to my skin like shame. My name was now just a number on a roster.
No one came to see me.
Not Patricia. Not Diana.
Not even a letter. Not even a fake apology.
But the silence that hurt the most was my granny’s.
She had no idea where I was. No one would tell her. I used to visit her every single day. She depended on seeing me, hearing my voice. Now she’d just be lying there, wondering why I abandoned her.
I couldn’t breathe when I thought about it too long.
Word spreads fast in prison.
Everyone already knew my story—or at least, the version they were told. Some pitied me. Others called me a fool for taking the fall.
Four of the women in my cell made it their mission to make me miserable. For reasons I didn’t know, they despised me. Maybe it was because I cried too much. Maybe it was because I looked like someone they once hated.
But two of them—elderly women named Fiona and Miss June—were kind. Quiet. Protective.
“You’re too young to rot in here,” Miss June whispered one night, pulling a thin blanket over me.
“God will send someone,” Fiona added, always hopeful. “The truth always finds the right ears.”
I wanted to believe that. But hope had started feeling like a cruel trick.
Still, I clung to one thing: if I could just get one more chance, I’d tell the truth.
Yes, it meant confessing that I lied under oath.
Yes, it meant risking a perjury charge.
But five years was better than life. Five years meant I could see my granny again before it was too late.
The next morning, just after the cell doors opened and we were handed breakfast, the sour smell of beans hit me like a wave.
Suddenly, my stomach twisted.
I gagged.
The retching came fast and violent.
Eyes turned. Voices called. The room spun. And then…
blackness.
When I opened my eyes, I was in the prison clinic.
A nurse stood beside me, arms crossed, face unreadable. “You’re pregnant,” she said, as if it were the weather report.
I stared at her. “What?”
“It’s confirmed.”
My heart sank.
And then the tears came—loud, choking sobs I couldn’t hold back.
I knew whose child it was. That night. That room. That man.
The night everything fell apart. Of all the things I’d lost… this one thing had stayed. A piece of that night I thought I’d buried.
Later that day, back in my cell, I was told I had a visitor.
My heart jumped.
Granny.
She had found out. She’d come.
But when I reached the visitation room, it wasn’t her.
It was Diana.
Decked out in luxury like she’d been dipped in gold….hair styled, nails flawless, heels worth more than everything I owned combined. She looked like a celebrity.
For a moment, I froze.
Had she won the lottery?
Sold my life for millions?
The anger that rose in my throat burned. But I swallowed it. I needed answers. And maybe… help.
“Well, well,” she smirked, her eyes sweeping over me. “You actually look good in orange. Brings out your eyes.”
I ignored her jab. “How’s Granny?”
“Oh, she’s fine,” she said casually. “Patricia sees her every day. Makes sure she gets top treatment.”
I exhaled, a tiny piece of my heart settling.
“But let’s be clear,” she added, leaning closer, voice dripping with venom. “She’ll continue to be fine… as long as you keep your mouth shut and serve your time.”
My fists clenched. “That’s not what we agreed. You said two days. This is life, Diana. Life. For something I didn’t even do.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t come here for a morality lecture. I came to remind you of something simple: Granny’s life is in your hands.”
“She’s your grandmother too, Diana,” I said, my voice quiet. “How can you forget that?”
Diana scoffed and rolled her eyes. “That old hag never cared about me. She only ever doted on you. Why should I care what happens to her now?”
I flinched. It hurt to hear her say that. Granny may have been more affectionate with me, but she was still family. Didn’t that mean anything to Diana?
She stood and adjusted her expensive coat like our conversation was over.
“Please,” I whispered.
She paused.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted.
Her head turned slowly. “What?”
“I’m pregnant. And if I give birth here… they’ll take the baby away.”
I swallowed hard. “I can’t live with that, Diana. Please… help me. Help me for the sake of this child. I’m begging you.”
She stared at me in disbelief before sitting back down. Her lips parted slightly, still stunned.
“Who’s the father?”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Her brows furrowed.
“I didn’t… It was that night. The night you forced me to drink. The night you gave those men permission to… to take me.”
Diana looked down.
“I escaped. Ran into a hotel room. A man was there. I don’t even know who he was. I was drugged by you… I forgot about everything. Until now.”
Silence hung between us.
Then she whispered, “I’m sorry… for that night. I didn’t think they’d take it that far.”
She sounded sorry. But Diana always sounded good when she wanted something.
I didn’t believe her. But I needed help, anyway.
She leaned forward, almost hesitant. “I’ll help you. I promise.”
A part of me wanted to ask, How? Another part was already too broken to question anything.
I just nodded.
But Diana never came back.
Not the next day.
Not the week after.
Not ever.
Weeks stretched into months. Every knock on the cell gate, every whisper in the hallway—I hoped it was her. It never was.
Hope died quietly inside me.
Being pregnant in prison was a nightmare.
The floor was too cold. The food too stale. The air too thin.
There was no extra pillow, no prenatal vitamins, no comfort.
My body ached constantly. My ankles swelled. The guards treated me like I was lying. Some days they skipped my meals just because they could. I wasn’t allowed to rest. My cellmates were irritated by my constant bathroom trips.
The baby moved more now. Kicked stronger. And every time I felt it, I cried—because I knew they would take it from me the moment it was born.
No name. No kiss. No touch. Just gone.
Lately, the ones who hated me didn’t bother hiding it. I’d catch them watching my stomach when they thought I wasn’t looking.
Two weeks before my due date, I was finally starting to sleep deeper.
But that night, something sharp jolted me awake.
Pain—unimaginable pain—sliced into my eye.
I screamed, but I couldn’t even move before the second stab came.
Straight into my other eye.
The world turned red. My body twisted. I thrashed, reaching out into nothing. Blood poured down my cheeks, and my screams echoed through the cell.
Footsteps. Gasps. The sound of chaos as the others rushed to me.
And then, unable to bear the pain any further, I blacked out.
I woke up in the prison clinic.
Everything was dark.
Pitch black.
Silent.
My eyes were wrapped in thick bandages. But I couldn’t feel them. Not really.
“Hello?” I croaked. My voice cracked. “Is anyone there?”
Silence.
“Why… why is it so dark?” My fingers clawed at the air. “I can’t see… please, I can’t see…”
A voice, calm and detached, finally spoke.
“I’m sorry. Because both your eyes were stabbed, your corneas were severely damaged. From what we can tell… you’ll likely never see again.”
I froze.
“No,” I whispered.
No.
No.
The pain meant nothing. The blood, the bandages—I could live with that.
But darkness?
Forever?
“No, please no…” I sobbed, choking on my own voice. “I can’t…. please, no….!”
And then…
My blood pressure spiked.
My water broke.
A warm gush beneath me.
Followed by another kind of pain. Deep, unfamiliar, primal.
