Rebirth

We’re always told that childbirth is one of the most painful experiences a woman can endure. I’m not here to argue with that—but people conveniently forget to mention something else:

For the baby too, it hurts like hell…

You get yanked into the world kicking and screaming—terrified, naked, covered in goo. Some wrinkled crone lifts you up, slices off your only food source, and slaps you across the ass like you’ve done something wrong. No wonder newborns cry like their soul’s been stolen.

Honestly, it’s probably for the best we don’t remember any of it—the cold air ripping through your lungs like a thousand needles, the blinding lights scorching your retinas, every sound crashing into your ears like in a warzone.

The shock and awe.
I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have been able to register it so vividly.

The reset should’ve wiped everything—clean slate, clean soul. But there I was, painfully aware. Awake inside a body that wasn’t ready for consciousness. Trapped in a mess of soft limbs and muffled sound.

Not that it mattered much in the moment.

The chaos faded. The pain dulled. Someone wiped me down with a warm cloth. The same old woman who’d just assaulted me handed me off to the one who had just given birth.

She was glowing—sweaty, exhausted, radiant. And smiling.

Looking up at her, a feeling I hadn’t known in what felt like lifetimes came rushing back. Not joy. Not even love.

Safety.

After years of bitter nights, dim screens, and deadlines that never stopped blinking red, I was being held by someone who didn’t expect anything from me.

And in her warm embrace, for the first time in a long time… I let go.
Not from exhaustion.
From relief.

A few hours later, I awoke to the sound of conversation and laughter—light, musical, and unfamiliar.

Opening my eyes, I was met by a group of people I’d never seen before—smiling, curious, leaning in close to get a better look.

At the center of it all was the woman holding me.
My new mother.

Even after giving birth to a new life, she looked incredible. No makeup, no fancy hairdo—just effortless beauty, like a beacon of light illuminating the room.

Her eyes caught mine, and I froze.

They were a deep golden yellow—like honey warmed by sunlight. I couldn’t look away. She smiled gently down at me, and something in that gaze held me completely still.

A few strands of crimson hair had come loose from the knot she wore, framing her porcelain face. They drifted softly in the air above me.

If not for the crowd murmuring and reaching in around us, we might’ve stayed like that for hours.

The man sitting beside her looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His blue hair hung to his neck in soft waves, tousled and unkempt. A shadow of stubble dulled what might’ve been a striking jawline. He kissed her temple, and she smiled again. That must’ve been my father. Lucky guy.

At the side of the bed, a small girl with violet pigtails was bouncing with excitement. As my eyes drifted toward her, she lit up, answering me with a wide, toothy grin—one that was missing a few teeth.

She kept pointing and chattering in my direction, her eyes—honey-colored like the mother’s—glinting with innocent wonder.

An older sister, perhaps? Judging by her reaction, she was very happy to see me enter the world.

The last one was a boy—barely a few years older than I was, by the looks of him. Soft blue hair fell over his face as he sat cross-legged on the bed itself.

Our eyes met. His were the same honey-gold as the others, but there was a glint of mischief in them—like he already had something planned.

Then, as if on cue, he started crawling toward me.

What the hell are you doing? I thought, watching his hand inch closer, unable to speak.

Without warning, he pinched my arm—hard.

I flinched and jerked away, stunned. What’s wrong with that kid?!

The reaction was instant. The little girl with pigtails yanked him back, scolding him in high-pitched outrage. My mother rocked me closer and gently rubbed the spot where he’d pinched me.

I shot him the nastiest glare I could manage—but he just laughed, loud and delighted, even as his sister kept scolding him like a tiny, furious guardian.

So that was my new family. They all seemed so happy—so effortlessly beautiful—I couldn’t help but feel like I didn’t belong.