They say the day a mother gives birth is like unlocking a treasure chest of infinite wonders. Each precious moment sparkles with the uniqueness of a new life, making it a day as extraordinary as the universe itself. My mother always told me that I was her greatest gift.

"Look at her, George," my mother murmured, her voice a melody of affection. "Our little Rebecca, a gift from the heavens."

"She's perfect," my father declared, his eyes locking onto me. In that moment, everything felt just right. After a decade of hoping and waiting, the sound of a baby's cry filled the room, but not just any baby  their baby, their precious child. Things were finally taking a turn in their favor.

But joy is often fleeting, as we were about to discover.

His footsteps reverberated through the hallway, each resonating thud announcing his impending arrival. The echoes weren't just in the hallway but in the hearts of those within.

"Such a beautiful baby," he remarked with a smirk, his voice a chilling melody that shattered the serenity we had so briefly savored. George, my father, tightened his grip on my mother in a protective reflex, meeting his gaze with silent defiance.

"You know I always liked you, Commander," he continued, his words dripping with perverse amusement. "And the Heavens decided to bless you by making us a family." The mockery in his tone sent shivers down our collective spines, the realization of an unholy alliance tightening its grip on our joy.

Summoning a flicker of courage, my father stepped forward, desperation etched in his eyes. "Darius, she's just a child," he pleaded, his voice carrying the weight of a father's desperate entreaty.

Darius, feigning surprise, opened his eyes wide, a façade of innocence. "I would never hurt a child, especially the one destined to bring an heir to my son," he declared, his gaze shifting between me and my mother. But beneath the veneer of false reassurance, a sinister truth lingered.

Drawing closer, Darius leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper clawing at my father's senses. "But you know a prophecy is a prophecy, and I will come back for her. I do hope you give her to me. I would hate to slash that beautiful throat of yours and Linda.... in law," he hissed, the subtle threat hanging heavy in the air. Just as he was about to leave, he turned to my mother with a bright smile on his face. "Congratulations, Linda," and with that, he was gone. leaving the room steeped in tension.

***

The soft sand filled my legs as I ran around on the playground my favorite place to be. The sounds of birds and the laughter of children always made me feel safe. I turned around, and there stood my mother, watching me play. She smiled and waved, and I reciprocated. It was my sixth birthday, and my parents had planned a fun-filled day for me.

"Becca, come, let's play on the swings!" my friend exclaimed, pulling me towards the swing set.

While my friends played on the swings, a man approached, holding a captivating flower. It had a rare, beautiful black color. I accepted it with a smile, and the stranger pointed ahead. There, a tall man stood with a powerful aura. He smiled at me. I couldn't explain the uneasy feeling that washed over me, but the sight of him made me shiver in fear.

I quickly sought out my mother. "Mum, Mum look at this," I said, showing her the unique flower. "Where did you get this from?" she asked as she examined the flower.

"A very handsome man gave it to me."

"And who could that be? I've never..." Suddenly, realization struck my mother. She looked at me, attempting to compose herself, but I could see right through her. "Honey, I need you to take me to this man."

I gave her a gentle nod and led her to where the stranger had been, but to my greatest surprise, he was gone. "He was just right here," I murmured.

My mum swiftly picked me up, and we rushed into the car. I wondered why we had to leave so unexpectedly. 

Tousling on my bed, I awoke from a sleep filled with uneasy dreams. The dim glow of the moonlight seeped through my bedroom window, casting shadows that danced along the walls. The creaky floorboards beneath my feet groaned softly as I navigated my way to the kitchen.

However, my journey came to an abrupt halt as my ears caught the strains of my mother's worried voice. It echoed through the quiet darkness, each word etched with a palpable sense of concern. In the living room, she paced with restless energy.

"We have to get out of here," she declared, her words hanging heavy in the air.

"Running won't solve this, Linda," my dad's voice resonated, a counterpoint to the tense atmosphere.

The weight of the situation pressed on my mother, and frustration painted her face as she exclaimed, "Then what do we do? Do you expect me to watch and do nothing?"

"Of course not! Do you think I don't wake up scared that our precious baby would be gone? Every damn day is a nightmare for me. But if we run, he's gonna come for us, and he's gonna kill us. I can't let that happen," my dad confessed, his footsteps carrying him to my mother as he embraced her in a soft hug.

"I can't lose her, George. I can't," she whispered, her words barely audible.

Unable to contain my emotions, I approached, and tears flowed down my eyes. The room seemed to tighten around us, suffused with the weight of an impending storm. Though young, I sensed that something was irrevocably wrong.

Seeing me, my parents quickly rushed, enveloping me in a hug that sought to shield and reassure. "I'm sorry, baby... don't cry about anything. Everything's fine," my mum said, attempting to soothe me. Yet, even at that tender age, I discerned the echoes of falsehood in her words.

"I won't let anything happen to you," my dad promised, his voice a beacon of reassurance in the encroaching darkness. "You're safe with us."