Day… I Don’t Even Know Anymore – The Seasons Are Changing
The wind is colder today. I sat by the window this morning, watching the leaves drift down from the trees. Fall is almost here. The forest is changing, the bright greens fading into warm yellows and deep oranges. It’s beautiful in a way, but it also reminds me how much time has passed. How long we’ve been here.

Last night, I dreamt of Mom and Dad. It felt so real, like I was home again, sitting at the kitchen table while Mom cooked and Dad laughed at one of his own terrible jokes. I woke up with an ache in my chest so deep it hurt to breathe. Are they safe? Do they think about me as much as I think about them? I want to hear their voices, even just once. But I can’t. I removed the SIM card from my phone weeks ago. If I tried to call them, even for a second, I could put them in danger. It’s better this way. That’s what I keep telling myself.

My belly is getting bigger now. I run my hands over it sometimes, trying to imagine what’s happening inside. A little life, growing. Moving. Existing. The morning sickness isn’t as bad anymore, but now it’s replaced by something else—the weirdest cravings.

One day, I couldn’t stop thinking about Sundae—Korean blood sausage. The next, it was grilled octopus. Then there was the time I sat there daydreaming about mango with shrimp paste, my mouth practically watering just from the thought of it. It’s funny, in a way.

Cravings are supposed to be a normal part of pregnancy, but here? In the middle of nowhere, with no grocery stores, no restaurants, no way to get anything remotely close to what I want? It feels like torture.

I haven’t told Saul. I know him. If he knew, he’d do everything in his power to find a way to get it for me. He’d march down the mountain, hunt through Rockwell, risk everything—just to bring back something ridiculous like a grilled octopus or a bowl of blood sausage. And I can’t let him do that. So I keep it to myself. I tell him I’m fine. And most of the time, I almost believe it.

But some nights, when everything is quiet, I close my eyes and pretend I’m back home, sitting at the dinner table, Mom placing a hot bowl of food in front of me, Dad making a joke about eating for two. And for just a moment, it doesn’t feel like the world is falling apart.

- Samantha
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Follow Samantha's Journey in Thy Birthright: Foreshadowing.
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It’s been weeks since we arrived at Grandpa’s cabin, and life has started to feel… steady. Not normal—normal is gone forever—but steady. Saul and I have been keeping busy every day. There’s always something to do. Cleaning up the cabin, fixing broken things, planting some crops in the greenhouse. It’s hard work, but it feels good to put our energy into something real, something that matters.

We even braved a trip to the nearby town—Rockwell. It’s small and quiet, the kind of place that looks like it’s been untouched by all the chaos in the world. We didn’t see a single PCTF agent, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching.

We wore scarves to cover our faces while shopping for supplies and food. Every step felt calculated, cautious. The walk there wasn’t too bad—about an hour or so downhill—but the trek back up was brutal, especially with all the things we were carrying. My legs burned, my back ached, and the morning sickness didn’t help. But we made it.

On the way back, we saw some rabbits darting through the brush and even caught a glimpse of a fawn grazing near the trail. It felt surreal, almost peaceful, like the forest was trying to remind us that life goes on, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart.
Saul told me a story while we walked—a memory of him and his dad hunting years ago. He laughed as he described the way his dad used to lecture him about patience while they sat in the cold, waiting for something, anything, to appear. He said he might need to hunt again one day, especially with the baby on the way.

The baby.

It’s still strange to say that word, to feel it become more real with each passing day. The morning sickness has been worse lately, but I keep reminding myself that it’s a good sign. It means the baby is growing, thriving. And now, there’s a tiny bump on my tummy—a reminder that this little life inside me is one of the few children to be born in this world in a long time.

I catch Saul staring at it sometimes, his face softening in a way I’ve never seen before. It’s like he’s already imagining what it will be like to hold the baby, to hear its laugh, to see it take its first steps. For a moment, it makes me forget the fear, the running, the constant shadow of the PCTF.

This little bump… it’s more than just a baby. It’s hope. It’s the reason we’ve kept going, kept fighting. And as hard as the days are, I know this life we’re building here—simple, quiet, and tucked away from the world—is worth every step, every ache, and every risk.

- Samantha
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Follow Samantha's Journey in Thy Birthright: Foreshadowing.
Now Available in Print and Kindle versions.
https://a.co/d/cBG9pvk