Kamrynn’s POV
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to sit up a little despite the pain coursing through my body. I can’t let this opportunity slip away. “Please, Elara,” I plead, my voice trembling but firm. “You have a daughter, right? You said you’d do anything to protect her. I was just trying to do the same for my child.”
Elara’s face hardens, and she crosses her arms. “That doesn’t excuse what you did. You still need to learn that actions have consequences. You were reckless.”
“I know,” I reply quickly, wincing as the words slip out in a pained rush. “I was angry… but I’m willing to accept responsibility. I just… I just couldn’t let her insult my baby like that. I’m begging you, please try to understand.”
For a long moment, Elara’s expression remains stony, and I feel my hope slipping away. Then, she sighs, her features softening just slightly. “Fine,” she says at last. “I’ll talk to the Gamma, see if there’s a possibility of letting you off this time. If that isn’t possible, I’ll at least try to ensure the punishment is more lenient than what you’d normally face.”
Relief washes over me, and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “Thank you, Elara. I… I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Elara says, a warning note in her voice. “You need to be very careful from now on, understand? This situation should never repeat itself. If you get into trouble again, I won’t be able to help you. You need to stay out of the other inmates’ way-for your own sake, and for the sake of your child.”
“I will,” I promise, my voice barely a whisper. “I’ll do my best.”
Elara gives a curt nod and turns to leave. “I’m going to speak with the doctor. Stay here and rest.”
As Elara steps out of the room, I try to settle back against the pillows, but my body is too tense to relax. I can only hope she keeps her word. If the Gamma agrees to be merciful, maybe-just maybe-I’ll have a chance to make it through this.
Moments later, a soft voice interrupts my thoughts. “Are you alright, dear?”
I turn my head to see a beautiful woman standing at the foot of my bed. She looks to be in her late thirties, with long black hair cascading down her back and big gray eyes that seem to radiate warmth. Her smile is gentle, kind in a way I haven’t seen since I got here.
“Um, I… I think so,” I stammer, still taken aback by the kindness in her voice. “Who… who are you?”
She moves closer, her expression sympathetic as she takes in the bruises covering my body. “You look like you’ve been through quite an ordeal,” she says softly. “Is there anything I can get for you? Anything you’d like?”
The question catches me off guard. No one has asked me what I wanted in a long time. My stomach growls at the thought of food, and I find myself answering before I can stop myself. “I… I’ve been craving spaghetti and steak.”
To my utter surprise, she smiles widely. “Spaghetti and steak it is,” she says, giving a small nod to a nearby nurse. The nurse hurries away, and before long, she returns with a steaming plate of spaghetti and a perfectly cooked steak.
The food is placed in front of me, the rich aroma filling the air. I stare at the plate in disbelief. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real meal, and I’m not sure if I should be suspicious or grateful. Who is this woman, and why is she being so kind to me?
The woman notices my hesitation and laughs lightly. “Don’t worry,” she says playfully. “The food isn’t poisoned.” She picks up a fork and takes a bite of the spaghetti herself. “See?”
I hesitate for a moment longer, but the smell of the food and the hunger clawing at my insides win out. I take a small bite, and the taste explodes in my mouth, richer and more flavorful than anything I’ve had in months. I can almost swear it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I quickly start devouring the meal, barely able to keep from groaning with satisfaction.
The woman pulls a chair over and sits beside the bed, watching me with a gentle expression. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” she says warmly. “I’m Rmonica, by the way. And you are?”
I pause, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Kamrynn,” I reply. “Kamrynn Delamorte.”
“Kamrynn,” Rmonica repeats, her voice lilting as if she’s trying out the sound. “It’s a lovely name.” She studies me for a moment, then asks, “How far along are you in your pregnancy?”
I glance down at my still flat belly, unsure how to respond. There’s concern in her voice, a genuine care that feels so out of place here. “About three months, I think,” I say. “It’s been hard to keep track of time.”
Rmonica’s expression softens, and a shadow of sadness crosses her face. “Pregnancy can be so… fragile,” she says softly, almost as if talking to herself. “You must take good care of yourself.”
I hesitate, then ask, “Are… are you expecting too?”
The question makes Rmonica’s face crumple immediately, her gray eyes dimming with a pain that is impossible to ignore. Her hand trembles as she lifts it to push back a strand of hair, and the small, forced smile on her lips falters. “No… No, I’m not,” she says, her voice cracking under the weight of the words. “I haven’t been able to carry a child… in sixteen years of being mated.”
The room feels suddenly smaller, as if her grief is expanding, pressing against the walls and filling every empty space. I can see the sorrow etched deeply in the lines of her face, the kind that doesn’t fade, even with time. There’s a hollowness in her eyes that speaks of old wounds, wounds that have never fully healed, no matter how much time has passed.