The Abandoned Child

Coal-black thunderclouds had been gathering over Mogu Valley since morning, a thousand miles from the bustling city of Ayodale.

By afternoon, a low growl rolled through the hills. The wind picked up, ushering in more ominous clouds that coiled like a black dragon, churning and roaring as if hoarding the wrath of the heavens.

The sky resembled a rattlesnake, winding into a furious coil, ready to unleash its venom upon the unsuspecting world.

The sun sat somewhere behind the western horizon, but its dying light was swallowed whole as legions of new thunderheads escorted darkness across the valley. Then it began—the rain. The kind Mogu Village had never seen.

The road, never paved, was riddled with potholes and puddles collecting dirty water.

It was near ten o’clock that night when a black sedan rolled slowly toward the edge of the village. Its once-luxurious body was splashed with mud. The headlights were off, and through the tinted glass, no one could tell who sat inside.

Behind the wheel, a young man in his twenties—Dorian Wei—tightened his grip until his knuckles whitened.

What am I really doing here? I never wanted it to come to this.

He swallowed hard as the car came to a stop. In the rearview mirror, tears gathered in his eyes.
How do I convince her? How can I let her abandon the baby?

One drunken night... just one mistake... He eyed the steering wheel. How many times would I have to slam my head into it before it breaks?

In the backseat sat Clara Chen, also in her twenties—dress and brim hat soaked through, barefoot, clutching a newborn swaddled in soft fabric against her chest.

Far above, lightning cracked across the mountain peaks, flooding the sinful world below in a brief white blaze.

There was no electricity in this place—just darkness, dampness, and decay. It felt like a silent monument to the underworld.

“You sure you want to do this?” Dorian asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Dorian… neither of us wanted this,” Clara murmured, eyes fixed on the tiny face in her lap.

“This little thing…” her voice broke, “is the fruit that should’ve never been born.”

Outside, the storm lashed the car windows, eager to erase even the smallest trace of their sin.

“It has to go… or I lose everything,” she whispered again.

She thought back to her first year at university—all the fun, the drinks, the recklessness. That’s how this happened…

“If you hate it so much, why didn’t you abort it when I told you to?” Dorian’s voice cracked with frustration. That night a year ago—it was all that damned alcohol’s fault.

Clara bit her lip, silent. Why am I saying these cruel things to a baby? She shook her head. I can’t think about what I went through for this…

“All I can do is leave it to its fate. That’s as far as I can go.” She brushed a finger against the baby’s cheek as it reached instinctively for her hand, still deep in its peaceful sleep.

Dorian spotted a small, decrepit hut ahead. Through a cracked window, the faint glow of a kerosene lamp flickered.

“They don’t even have electricity here. Why this place?” he asked bitterly. He had wanted to take the child to an orphanage. I could have supported him, even secretly… but now there won’t be a chance for that.

“Here will do. Help me with the stroller. It’s in the trunk.”

Dorian pulled up the handbrake, leaving the engine running. The wipers swished faintly, struggling. He stepped out into the storm, fetched the stroller, and brought it around.

Clara followed, umbrella trembling in her hand. “Here, take this. I’ll handle the stroller.”

He held the umbrella over her as she placed the sleeping child inside. “How can it sleep so soundly?” he whispered.

“Isn’t that better?” Clara’s voice was brittle.

“If it dies, let it die in peace,” Dorian murmured under his breath. Louder, he said, “I told you—we could’ve left it at an orphanage.”

“I don’t want it traced back to me or my father. You know how dangerous those reporters are—hyenas…”

She pulled the stroller’s hood down. “There. The rain won’t hurt him now.”

“You’re really going through with this,” Dorian muttered. His heart pounded as the weight of what they were doing sank in. His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. “Clara… please. Let’s go back. We’ll find another way—somewhere far away, where no one knows us…”

“Then we’d have to give our names to the registry,” she said flatly. “They’ll see our faces. And they’ll remember them—the wretched parents who abandoned their child. People have long memories in cases like this.”

Clara pushed the stroller toward the hut. Dorian followed, barely breathing.

By the doorway, she stopped. Looked down one last time.

“Blame your fate…” Her voice cracked. “And may we never meet again.”

She turned away, trembling.

Back in the car, silence pressed against them. Dorian’s jaw clenched. His chest rose and fell like a buoy tossed in a violent sea.

He heard nothing but the hammering rain and the baby’s faint cries.

Those innocent fingers, clutching Clara’s hand with all their fragile trust… only to be swallowed by darkness.

The only people that child could ever trust—his parents—left him behind.

A whimper escaped him, lost beneath the rain’s relentless drumming.

The wipers groaned and thudded, each pass duller than the last.

“Ka-thunk… judder-judder…”

Like the pendulum of a clock.

Tick—thunk.

Tock—judder.

He sat motionless. Every breath burned.

What they did tonight might remain secret forever, but their souls would bear it always. The air inside the car turned cold and stale.

I wish I could die now… what’s the point of living?

He wanted to scream. Break. Destroy everything. But he couldn’t move.

Outside, the rain grew heavier, blurring the world into nothing but smears of gray.

And Dorian sank deeper—motionless, hollow, lost.

Clara sat the same way. Her face—stone. Her eyes—vacant.

Someone like me doesn’t deserve to call herself human.

She dug her nails into her palm until it bled. Tried to tear at her own flesh—until pain overrode the impulse.

Unlike Dorian, she wasn’t remorseful—or so she told herself. But her bleeding hands betrayed her.

It’s for the better. Everything will return to normal. I’ll go home… back to my father… Dorian to his world of status and wealth. I’ll get what I always wanted. The hard part is over.

But her mind betrayed her again—dragging her back to that day, a year ago.

Zuiyou Town, 2000 kilometers away from Ayodale

Dr. Lan Fuyuan’s Clinic

Dr. Lan was about to leave for the night when the intercom buzzed.

“Ma’am, a patient—”

“Tsk, Dr. Song’s late again? Send her in.”

Moments later, Clara walked in—sunglasses, scarf, nervous hands clutching a purse.

Dr. Lan, calm and experienced, scanned the reports.

“Clara, you’re about six weeks pregnant,” she said softly. “But it’s ectopic—the embryo’s in your fallopian tube, not your uterus. That’s why you’re in pain.”

Clara went pale. “What does that mean? What happens now?”

“It’s serious,” said Dr. Lan. “If we wait, the tube could rupture. But it’s early—we can treat it safely. You’ll recover.”

Clara swallowed. “My father… he’s a public figure. If anyone finds out—”

“This isn’t about image,” Dr. Lan interrupted gently. “It’s about your life.”

Clara hesitated. “Can I bring my boyfriend in?”

“I’m sorry, no. Only family. Can you call your mother?”

She didn’t answer. Her nails dug into the leather of her purse. “Then I’ll talk to her and let you know.”

“Don’t delay,” said Dr. Lan firmly. “Your life depends on it.”

That night, Clara called home.

The phone rang. Clicked.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“...Dad, it’s me. Clara.”

“Yes, I can hear that. What’s wrong?”

“...”

“If you’re not going to talk, I’m hanging up. The election’s close—make it quick.”

“...”

Malcolm Chen’s voice sharpened. “Don’t tell me—Clara, where are you?”

“...”

“CLARA, ANSWER ME!”

“Dad! Please… can you not be the mayor for once in my life? I’m hurting…” she sobbed.

“What did you do this time? Don’t talk on the phone. Tell me where you are—I’m coming.”

He arrived. He arranged everything. But afterward, his voice still echoed in her head:

“Don’t come home if you’re keeping that thing inside you. Only you. Not it.”

Even now, that voice haunted her.

Dorian's voice broke Clara out of her trance.

“We should go,” Dorian murmured, starting the car.

The tires cracked over gravel and mud as the taillights vanished behind the curtain of rain.

A thunderclap shook the valley, startling the abandoned child awake.

Its cries echoed through the storm.

The faint glow from the hut’s window flickered—moved—then vanished.

Moments later, an old woman appeared at the doorway, holding a lamp and walking stick.

Lightning illuminated her for a heartbeat—bent, frail, eyes wide.

She dropped her stick and lamp when she saw the baby, its cries hoarse and broken.

Tears filled her eyes as she scooped the child into her arms.

Then she lifted the lamp and hurried back inside.

Outside, her walking stick lay forgotten, drowned in rain and mud.