A DAUGHTER'S WHISPER

The forest seemed to stretch endlessly, but that morning, the air felt refreshingly light.

 Sunlight filtered through the branches in golden rays, warming the dirt path as Ida walked steadily, the cradle swaying gently against her shoulder. Her white dress danced with each step, brushing against the tall grass and wildflowers.

Yi trailed closely behind, his mall hand occasionally brushing against hers, his eyes shining bright despite the lingering redness from last night’s tears.

Every now and then, he’d glance up at her, as if checking to see that she was still there, still real.

For once, Ida didn’t mind.

The forest was alive with soft, tender sounds the chirping of hidden birds, the crunch of twigs beneath their feet, and the gentle hum of Yi trying to mimic the lullaby Ida had sung for Yae.

Even though his voice cracked and the melody stumbled, Ida couldn’t help but smile faintly.

“Not bad,” she whispered, adjusting the cradle. “At this rate, you’ll put Yae to sleep better than I do.”

Yi beamed, a bit shy but clearly proud. “Really, Mommy?”

Ida just hummed in response, her hand reaching out to ruffle her messy hair affectionately.

Together, the three of them strolled until the trees began to thin, and the sounds of distant chatter and footsteps filled the air.

When they finally emerged from the last line of trees, a small city unfolded before them stone walls, narrow streets lined with bustling stalls, and the enticing aroma of fresh bread mingling with the smoke from blacksmith forges.

Yi’s eyes widened, sparkling with childlike wonder. “Wow… Mommy, look! So many people!”

Ida’s lips curled into a faint smile. She adjusted the cradle’s strap on her shoulder and guided him forward.

They meandered from shop to shop, Ida careful to keep a respectful distance from strangers while allowing Yi to linger near the stalls.

He tugged at her dress whenever something caught his eye: fruit stacked high in baskets, vibrant bolts of cloth, and intricately carved wooden trinkets.

At a little stall, Yi's eyes caught a glimpse of a weathered leather bag hanging from a hook. The seams were a bit frayed, but it looked sturdy enough. He gave it a tug and held it up for Ida to see. “Mommy, can we use this? For… all the things we get?”

Ida tilted her head, taking a moment to really look at him. Then she nodded, her voice soft and reassuring. “That’s a great idea, Yi. It’ll work just fine.”

His face lit up with a big smile, and together they started filling the bag with small supplies some dried meat, loaves of bread wrapped in cloth, a flask of clean water, and a bundle of herbs.

Yi held the bag with pride, stumbling a bit under its weight but determined not to let it go.

Every so often, he glanced at the cradle resting on Ida’s shoulder, lowering his voice as if he were talking to the baby inside. “Don’t worry, Yae… I’ll help too. I’ll carry things for you and Mommy.”

Ida slowed her pace for a moment, her gaze lingering on the small figure of her son, the bag bouncing against his side.

A warm feeling stirred in her chest fragile, a little scary, and completely new.

But for now, she let it be.

As the sun began to set, the warm glow of lanterns flickered to life along the streets. The vibrant chatter of the city faded, and shadows stretched long across the cobblestone paths.

Yi gently tugged at Ida’s sleeve. “Mommy… it’s getting dark.”

She looked up at the deepening sky, her face a mix of thoughts.

The idea of wandering the streets at night with Yae made her uneasy too many eyes watching, too many risks lurking. They needed a quiet place, somewhere safe and out of sight.

They moved away from the bustling streets, walking further until Yi’s small voice broke the silence. “Look! Over there.”

By the roadside sat an old bus, its windows cracked and its paint peeling away with age. The doors creaked open, swaying slightly in the breeze.

Ida stepped inside first, the cradle swaying gently against her shoulder. Dust covered the seats, but the bus was empty—silent and safe. She nodded slightly. “This will do.”

Yi followed her in, his tiny hands brushing against the seats as if he were exploring a new world. Ida walked slowly down the aisle, finally placing the cradle carefully on a seat by the window.

She ran her fingers over the cloth covering it, her voice barely above a whisper. “Rest well, Yae… mama will keep you safe.”

Turning back, she patted the seat across the aisle. “Yi. Here. Lie down.”

He obeyed, curling up on the dusty cushion, clutching his bag of supplies close to his chest as if afraid it might disappear in the night. His wide eyes looked up at her, uncertain.

“Mommy… will you sing again?”

Ida blinked, tilting her head. Then, with a soft smile, she settled between them the cradle on one side, Yi on the other and began to hum.

The lullaby floated softly, words spilling like gentle ripples on calm water. The melody filled the empty bus, delicate and haunting, yet soothing enough to calm a restless child’s heart.

Yi’s eyelids fluttered as the sound enveloped him. He shifted, relaxing, her small breaths becoming steady. In no time, he had drifted off to sleep, his hand still clutching his bag.

Ida’s voice hung in the air a bit longer, her gaze flitting between the cradle and Yi. The soft moonlight filtered through the bus windows, wrapping them all in a silvery embrace.

For the first time in ages, she found herself in a silence that didn’t feel completely lonely.

The soft hum of the night enveloped the empty bus, interrupted only by the gentle breaths of two sleeping children.

Yae's lifeless body was curled up on the seat, her tiny hands gripping the edge of her cradle blanket, while Yi’s small body rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, her face serene and unguarded in sleep.

Ida leaned back against the cracked glass, her white dress shimmering softly in the moonlight filtering through the windows.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to breathe deeply. How odd… she mused. The silence tonight felt light it was soothing. Almost… comforting.

Her gaze wandered to Yi.

The child’s lashes fluttered slightly, her lips parted as if lost in a dream. A faint smile crept onto Ida’s face.
“…She really does remind me of Yae,” Ida murmured to herself. “So innocent… so trusting. Even after everything she’s faced.”

She gently brushed a strand of hair from Yi’s face, her hand lingering just a moment too long. “I almost feel like… I could be a mother again.

Like maybe… just maybe this little one could fill the void I thought would never heal.”

But then her expression shifted. The warmth faded, replaced by a cold, steely resolve in her eyes. Her grip on the seat tightened until her knuckles turned white.

“…No. That’s not right.” Her voice dropped, sharper and more biting. “This isn’t my child. She’s just a stray I found in the dark. A burden. A weakness.”

Ida’s lips twisted into a thin, venomous smile. “And perhaps… perhaps this is my opportunity. To rid myself of her before she becomes a weight I can’t bear. To end this pitiful little life while she sleeps so soundly.”

Her gaze locked onto Yi’s tiny form, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the delicate pulse beneath her skin. Leaning closer, she whispered with a malice that only the shadows could hear:

“One knife. One moment. That’s all it would take.”

The bus creaked in the stillness, the lullaby she had sung just moments ago lingering faintly in the air mocking the warmth she had almost allowed herself to feel.

Ida’s hand slipped slowly into the folds of her dress, her fingers brushing against the cold steel. The dagger glimmered softly in the moonlight, its edge whispering promises of silence and freedom. She rose from her seat, her steps soundless, and stood over Yi.

The child slept so peacefully, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Ida lifted the blade, her shadow stretching long across the cracked floor of the bus.

Just one strike… one quick strike, and it would all be over.

Her grip tightened. The dagger hovered above Yi’s small frame. Ida’s lips curled into a silent snarl as she prepared to plunge it down—

But then she froze.

“…Mommy…” Yi’s voice slipped from her lips in a fragile murmur, broken and dreamlike. “…don’t leave me… mommy…”

Ida’s breath caught in her throat. The word sliced through her heart sharper than the blade she held. She staggered, staring at the girl’s face. In the dim light, the truth revealed itself—soft, delicate features that no boy could hide, a fragile curve of her cheeks, the subtle line of her lips.

Ida’s eyes widened. “…A girl?”

Her hand trembled violently. The dagger slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the floor of the bus with a hollow echo. The sound was loud enough to make her flinch, but Yi didn’t stir—she only whimpered softly and turned on her side, still whispering for her mother.

Ida fell to her knees, her white dress pooling around her as her hands shook. She pressed them against her mouth, her eyes burning. “…What was I about to do…?”

Her body trembled between rage and despair. For the first time in so long, Ida felt her mask cracking—not under the weight of hate, but something else. Something fragile. Something terrifying.

And in the stillness of the night, the blade lay abandoned at her feet, a silent witness to her hesitation.

Ida’s fingers fidgeted against her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She glanced at Yi, who was sleeping peacefully, then at Yae’s tiny form nestled in the cradle on the other seat.

Her mind started to betray her.

Visions of violence, sharp and relentless, invaded her thoughts. She imagined her own hands pressing a pillow down over Yae’s delicate face, the infant’s muffled cries clawing at her ears until they faded into silence.

She envisioned herself lifting a dagger again, plunging it into Yi’s chest, blood staining the child’s new name. The memory of her father’s lifeless body flashed before her—his sneer, his cruelty, and how she had silenced it forever.

Ida’s eyes widened in horror. “No… no, stop… please…” She clutched her head, rocking back and forth. The visions wouldn’t relent. The thought of harming her own kind—her sisters—felt like a sickness gnawing at her insides.

“Why… why would I even think about it…? She’s just like me… they’re all like me…”

Suddenly, a wave of rage twisted inside her. Her hands flew to her own throat, nails digging into her skin. She began to squeeze, her breath hitching as tears filled her eyes. Her body shook violently, her face flushing as she pressed harder.

“This is what I deserve… to die for even thinking it… for betraying them…” Her words came out in strained gasps.

Her vision blurred, stars flickering at the edges of her sight. Yi stirred in her sleep, murmuring another “Mommy…”—a fragile sound that echoed through the empty bus like a lifeline.

Ida’s grip loosened. She collapsed forward, coughing, her throat raw, tears streaming down her face. She buried her face in her dress, her whole body shaking as muffled sobs escaped her.

For the first time in years, Ida wasn’t just haunted by the ghosts of her past—she was terrified of herself.