Page 201 of Bound By Crimson
Not a newborn’s sound.
A baby who had grown.
And every time she heard it—every desperate wail, every breathless sob—it shattered something inside her.
Her body jolted with each cry like it was her name being screamed.
Her milk had dried up. Her breasts no longer ached.
But her arms still burned to hold him.
She hadn’t seen his face. Hadn’t brushed her lips across his cheek.
Not once.
Not even once.
She didn’t know what he looked like—or even the color of his eyes.
She didn’t know what he smelled like—or even the sound of his laugh.
And he didn’t know her voice.
He didn’t know her warmth.
He didn’t know she was his mother.
Her baby was crying for someone.
But it wasn’t her.
That was the worst part.
Lyric shifted slowly in bed. Her body didn’t ache like it used to. Not in the same places.
She was no longer sore down there. That pain had faded weeks ago—healed quietly, without celebration.
Now the ache lived in her joints. Her muscles. Her eyes.
It was deeper. Heavier. And it didn’t go away.
She had done everything they wanted.
She ate. She rested. She didn’t scream anymore.
She told herself it was for Noah.
That every spoonful of soup, every forced swallow, was part of a plan.
Get strong.
Get him.
Get out.
But she wasn’t getting stronger.
She was wasting away.
