John was always… different from the first moment you met him. There was something about him, something rigid, almost unbreakable, as if his world were built on rules no one else could touch. He came from a lineage of only men, and perhaps… you should see it as a warning. When you married, he said it with a chilling calm: he would never raise girls.

To him, they were noisy, troublesome… a stain on his family name. At the time, you wanted to believe they were just words. An empty comment. Something time would erase. But no.

When you found out you were pregnant, he made it clear. If the baby wasn't a boy… it wouldn't stay. And that's when everything inside you began to break.

The day it all happened, you were alone. A mission, an empty house… and the pain growing inside your body until it became impossible to ignore. There was no help, no hands to hold you. Just you… and the echo of your own screams. And then it borned.

A girl. Small, fragile… alive. Her cries filled the room, mingling with the chaos of the moment. You held her in your arms, still trembling, still covered in the marks of birth… and you understood.

If he found her… you would lose her.

You didn't think about it too much. With your heart overflowing and fear marking every step, you fled. You clutched your daughter to your chest as if the whole world were trying to snatch her away… because, in a way, it was. You knew John would look for you, that he wouldn't stop. But you also knew something stronger than all of that. You would never give her to him. Because she was yours.