Chapter 73 In you I found myself
Maureen Laskovic:
The darkness swallowed my scream.
It pressed in from every side—thick, airless, endless—until I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed, if I was falling or being dragged.
The ground vanished beneath me.
There was no ground.
No sky.
No horizon.
Just black and the sound of my own breath tearing in and out of my chest.
Something pulled again.
Harder this time.
Not claws.
Not hands.
A force—ancient, patient, inevitable—wrapped around me like cold silk and yanked.
I screamed as my body jerked backward, limbs flailing uselessly through nothing.
My nails grasped at empty air, fingers curling, desperate, trying to catch on anything—fabric, stone, him—but there was nothing to hold, nothing to anchor me.
“No—please—wait—”
My voice broke apart, splintering into sobs.
“I’m not ready. I can’t—please, don’t take me—”
The force didn’t answer.
It never spoke.
It only pulled.
Images flashed behind my eyes—too fast, too sharp.
Vuk’s hands, bloodied but gentle.
His mouth at my temple, whispering promises he didn’t know how to keep.
The warmth of a body beside mine in the dark.
Laughter.
Pain.
Chains.
Love.
Loss.
Everything I had ever fought for was being peeled away from me layer by layer.
“I’m still here!”
I screamed into the void, voice raw, throat burning.
“I’m alive—can’t you feel that? I’m still breathing—please—please—”
The pull intensified.
My body arched as if I were being dragged through ice water, nerves screaming, muscles locking in agony.
My chest felt like it was being crushed inward, ribs caving under invisible pressure.
Each breath came harder than the last, shallow and panicked, like my lungs were forgetting how to work.
“No,” I sobbed, shaking violently.
“No, no, no—Vuk—Vuk, please—find me—don’t let go—”
My legs kicked wildly, reflexive, desperate—one, two, again—thrashing against the nothingness as if I could swim my way out of death itself.
Pain shot through my hips, my spine, my shoulders—but I welcomed it.
Pain meant I was still here.
“I won’t go,” I cried, tears streaming freely now, hot and endless.
“I won’t. You don’t get to take me. Not yet. I haven’t— I haven’t lived enough. I haven’t loved enough. I haven’t—”
My voice cracked completely.
“I haven’t said goodbye.”
Something inside me snapped then—not broke, but hardened.
A resolve, sharp and blazing, flared in my chest.
No.
I planted that thought like a blade into the dark.
I kicked again—harder—screaming with the effort, with the pain, with the sheer, animal will to exist.
My body convulsed, twisting violently as I fought the pull with everything I had left, sobbing, screaming Vuk’s name until it tore my throat raw.
“VUK—! I’M HERE—I’M STILL HERE—DON’T LET ME GO—”
The darkness shuddered.
And then—
Light.
A blinding, searing white tore through the void a few meters away—so bright it hurt, so sudden I cried out and shielded my eyes.
My breath hitched as I stared.
A door stood there.
Alone.
Plain.
Impossible.
Hope slammed into me so hard it knocked the breath from my lungs.
I exhaled—shaking, broken—then dragged in a breath that burned like fire all the way down.
That was it.
That was my way out.
I ran.
My legs screamed in protest, muscles trembling, every step agony—but I ran anyway, tears streaking my face, sobs ripping out of me as I chased the door.
It moved—sliding back, retreating, as if testing me, daring me to give up.
“Don’t you dare,” I gasped, voice wrecked.
“Don’t—don’t take this from me too—”
I pushed harder.
Faster.
The force tugged again, furious now, relentless—but I fought it, body twisting, kicking, clawing my way forward inch by inch until—
My fingers brushed metal.
I screamed and lunged, throwing myself forward with everything I had left.
My hand closed around the handle.
I wrenched it open.
Light exploded.
Pure, blinding white slammed into my face, into my eyes, into my chest—burning, overwhelming, consuming everything—
And then I fell.
_ _
Pain.
That was the first thing.
Not sharp—deep. Heavy. Everywhere.
My head throbbed like it had been split open and stitched back together wrong.
My limbs felt foreign, weighted, twitching faintly as if they didn’t belong to me anymore.
Sound came next—muffled, distorted, like I was underwater.
I tried to move.
My body barely responded.
A whimper slipped out of me before I could stop it.
I forced my eyes open—just a slit.
Light stabbed straight through my skull and I cried out softly, reflexively squeezing them shut again.
My breath came uneven, shallow, chest stuttering as if it couldn’t remember the rhythm.
My hands moved before my mind could catch up.
Weak. Shaking.
They drifted down—slow, searching—until they pressed against my belly.
Relief flooded me so fast it made me dizzy.
A sob caught in my throat.
Then—
“My Lord…”
The voice was distant. Female. Familiar.
“Yes, Livia. What’s the matter—”
Vuk’s voice followed—rough, edged with exhaustion and something dangerously close to breaking.
“I think—” Livia swallowed audibly. “I think the Queen—she moved—”
“What?!”
The word cracked like thunder.
I felt it then—the shift. The air tightening. The sudden, fragile stillness around me.
Fear crept in, cold and sharp.
My body went numb.
Too much.
Too loud.
Too bright.
I retreated instinctively, breath hitching as I shut my eyes again—hands still pressed protectively to my belly—as if hiding inside myself could keep the world from pulling me away again.
A sound escaped me then.
Not on purpose.
A small, broken sound—thin and wet—like something wounded.
Tears slid from the corners of my eyes before I even understood why.
They soaked into the pillow, warm and relentless, my chest stuttering as if my body had begun to cry on its own, without waiting for permission.
Something was wrong.
Something was missing.
My fingers moved slowly, clumsily, tracing the place where warmth should have been.
Flat.
My breath caught.
Confusion fluttered sharp and panicked beneath my ribs, followed immediately by a wave of grief so sudden and so deep it stole the air from my lungs.
It felt ancient. Instinctive. Like my body was remembering something my mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
“No…” I whispered, barely audible.
Another sob tore out of me, heavier this time, my shoulders trembling weakly as my hands stayed pressed there—as if I could call it back by touch alone.
“Vuk…” My voice scraped painfully from my throat. “Water… please… water…”
Movement—fast, urgent.
The familiar weight of him near me.
Cool glass against my lips.
I drank shakily, coughing a little, but the ache didn’t ease.
My hands drifted back down immediately.
Searching.
Empty.
The tears came harder then—helpless, humiliating.
I didn’t understand why I was crying this way.
I only knew that my chest hurt like something precious had been torn out of it while I slept.
“I—” My voice fractured.
I shook my head faintly, lashes fluttering as I forced my eyes open just enough to see him.
He was right there. Watching me like I was made of smoke.
“I had a dream,” I whispered.
He stilled.
“I was pregnant,” I said.
The words felt heavy in my mouth—too heavy for something that was supposed to be unreal.
My throat tightened violently.
“I had babies in me.”
A sob ripped through me as my hands trembled against my stomach.
“They kicked. They moved. I could feel them inside me—like fireflies, like little hearts answering me back.”
Tears blurred everything.
Vuk’s face went tight, controlled—too controlled.
His hand came to my cheek, thumb brushing my tears away again and again as if he could erase them.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “It was just a dream, baby.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head weakly, panic threading through the grief now.
“No, please don’t say that. I felt it.”
My voice broke completely.
“I felt them. I swear I did.”
My fingers dug into the fabric of my gown, clutching at myself like I was afraid I might come apart.
“They were here,” I sobbed. “They were part of me.”
Silence stretched—thick, suffocating.
Vuk leaned closer, resting his forehead against mine.
I felt his breath tremble once before he steadied it.
“You were very sick,” he said gently. Too gently.
“You collapsed. Your body needed time.”
I searched his face desperately, eyes glassy and unfocused.
“So… so everything was a dream?” I whispered. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t pregnant?”
The pause was small.
But my body noticed it anyway.
“No,” he said. “You weren’t. Not before you got sick.”
Something inside me caved in.
I nodded slowly, numbly, like a child being told a truth she didn’t understand but didn’t have the strength to fight.
“But it hurts,” I whispered, shame and sorrow tangling together.
“Why does it hurt like this if it wasn’t real?”
Vuk gathered my hands in his, gently pulling them away from my stomach and holding them like something fragile, something sacred.
“Dreams can do that,” he said. “Especially when they give you something your heart wanted very badly.”
Another sob slipped out of me—quieter now, exhausted.
“I dreamed a whole life,” I murmured. “And then I woke up without it.”
He pressed his lips to my knuckles, one by one.
“You’re alive,” he said softly. “That’s what matters.”
I nodded again, even though the grief stayed—low and heavy and unresolved—settling into my chest like a stone.
My eyes slid shut once more.
If it was only a dream…
Why did my body feel like it had buried something it would never get back.