Hearing the birds chirping every morning, I knew it was another day.
Today marked day twenty-nine.
Twenty-nine days trapped inside this dumb garage.
Hearing the outside was a cruel reminder that the world continued to move while I remained frozen in this place. My stomach growled loudly, sharp and painful, reminding me that I hadn't eaten a real meal in days.
I reached for the last slice of bread I had left. It was stale and dry.
Beside it sat the final gulp of water in a bottle. I had tried to ration it. I told myself I could wait longer. I was wrong.
Damn, I was starving.
As I ate the last crumb, my stomach was far from satisfied. Wait, what was that noise? It was the sound of a car pulling up outside. My heart started to pound. I thought to myself, I could die from starvation right here, or I could at least try and take this chance.
I took a deep breath.
I screamed as loud as I could, with everything in me.
"Help! Help! Help!"
My voice bounced off the garage walls, loud and wild. I pounded on the door until my fists ached. As I started to sweat, the heat pressed in on me. The room felt thick. I started to feel like I was suffocating.
Finally, I fell to my knees and collapsed onto the concrete floor, my body shaking uncontrollably.
Then I heard it.
Chains.
Locks untangling.
The garage door creaked open, and sunlight flooded in so suddenly it burned my eyes. I squinted, trying to see who was there.
Boom!
Pain exploded across my face.
Everything went black.
I woke up to a splash of water hitting my face.
My face throbbed violently. The pain radiated through my jaw and neck, so intense it felt like something was broken. My head spun as I realized I couldn't move.
I was tied to a chair.
In front of me sat a plate. Two slices of bread, but this time there was bologna in between. A full sandwich. Three orange slices. A glass of ice-cold water.
My stomach growled so loud it embarrassed me, even in this moment.
The room was dim. Relief and fear twisted together in my chest as I stared at the food.
A chair scraped loudly against the floor.
I looked up.
It was my husband, Robert.
He stood over me, his eyes cold, his face unreadable. Then he smiled.
"Eat, Karma," he said politely.
He pulled the scarf from my mouth and lifted the sandwich toward me. I was terrified. He had never been gentle, never wanted to feed me.
I kept my mouth shut. Hunger couldn't overpower fear.
His voice snapped.
"Eat, Karma! Eat it now!"
Trembling, I opened my mouth and took a bite, terrified the food was poisoned. Bite by bite, he fed me, never once breaking eye contact. I chewed and swallowed, forcing each mouthful down.
When I finished, he leaned closer.
"I have a proposition for you," he said calmly. "Would you like to hear it?"
I nodded, tears falling down my face.
"There's an upcoming event at the church," he continued. "People have noticed you've been missing for some time. I told them you were sick. The women from the congregation would like to bring you some get-well gifts."
He paused, watching me carefully.
"If I let you out of the garage and back into the house, you will keep this to yourself. You will say nothing."
"You can stay inside with us as a family," he added softly. "Even after they leave."
My mind immediately went to my children.
The thought of caring for them again shattered me. I nodded immediately, desperate, exhausted, clinging to hope.
Then the room began to spin.
My eyelids felt heavy. My body grew warm and sluggish. I tried to stay awake, but I couldn't fight it.
Through blurred vision, I felt Robert's hand rest on my stomach.
"Oh my… how you've grown," he murmured.
As his hand rubbed my six-month-pregnant belly, my baby kicked in response, a reminder of the life inside me.
Darkness closed in.
The last thing I felt was his hand still there, and the terrifying realization that I had just agreed to something I didn't understand.