Gloria stood in the Hazbin Hotel’s kitchen, quietly chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board the only noise in the otherwise silent room. The soft sizzle of oil in the pan filled the air as she carefully stirred the mix, her hand resting gently on her growing belly.

For the first time, she wasn’t cooking for herself to hoard or manipulate; it was for her unborn child. A brief, soft smile crossed her face as she focused on the task, the weight of her past slipping away with each slice.

The creak of the door interrupted her thoughts, and she tensed. Without turning, she called out softly, “Is someone there?” Her voice was calm, but the quiet hint of uncertainty lingered in the air.