My name is Clara Beaumont. Three years ago, I married into the prominent Sterling family of the East Coast. I have been pregnant twice, but neither of my children survived. It was all thanks to their family’s albino raven—a creature they worshipped as an oracle.

The first time I was pregnant, I visited their estate, and the raven shrieked mournfully toward my belly.

The second time, the same thing happened. It stared intently at my abdomen with its blood-red eyes and let out that same chilling wail.

I thought it was just a bizarre coincidence, but to my horror, my father-in-law, Alistair, and mother-in-law, Beatrice, took the raven's cries as a dark omen. Through psychological torment and grotesque rituals, they forced me into one miscarriage after another.

I even showed them the doctor's reports proving the baby was perfectly healthy, pleading with them to stop.

But they locked me in a room and tore my children from my womb all the same.

When I became pregnant for the third time, I was exceptionally careful.

I went straight for non-invasive prenatal testing. The report confirmed the baby was healthy and even showed a 99.9% DNA match to my husband, Julian.

I thought everything would be all right this time. But the moment that raven saw me, it let out the same shriek.

Just like before, the Sterlings immediately moved to carry out the so-called "oracle's" will.

I couldn't understand. The baby was clearly healthy, and the DNA report proved it was Julian's. Why would they trust the squawks of a bird over science, over their own flesh and blood, and force me to sacrifice yet another child?

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1

"You're not keeping this child. It's time for the purification ritual, and everything is ready. You're coming with us—now." Alistair and Beatrice Sterling each grabbed one of my arms, dragging me toward the room.

Meanwhile, the enormous albino raven outside the door screeched relentlessly.

Terrified, I clung to the doorframe with all my might. "No! I won't. The baby is healthy. Why are you making me do this?"

I pleaded for an explanation, but their faces were stone.

Seeing that I wouldn't let go, Alistair pried my fingers from the wood, his voice dangerously low. "You are a Sterling. Stop this nonsense. The oracle has spoken. This child cannot be kept."

As he tore my last finger loose, terror morphed into a pain so sharp it felt physical, and a raw scream tore through my sobs.

"The baby is healthy! The report proves he's a Sterling! Why do you keep choosing to believe the shriek of a bird over your own family, forcing me to sacrifice child after child?"

This was my third pregnancy.

My first pregnancy ended at just five weeks. The moment they heard the raven’s cry, they locked me away without a word, forcing a miscarriage through their grotesque rituals. The second time, at one month along, they subjected me to the same "purification" ritual immediately, offering no explanation. I fought back both times. During the second, I even shoved the medical reports in their faces, proving the baby was developing normally. They didn’t even glance at them.

This time, I’d waited until I was three months along. I had non-invasive prenatal testing and a battery of comprehensive exams done. The results were undeniable: the baby was perfectly healthy and a confirmed DNA match to my husband, Julian Sterling. Only then did I tell Alistair and Beatrice.

Their reaction, however, was identical. They insisted I terminate the pregnancy, no matter what.

The thought of losing this child ignited a fire of rage and despair within me. Was I really doomed to lose my third child, too?

They didn't answer my pleas, only continuing to drag me toward the room. I was no match for their combined strength. They finally forced me inside and locked the door from the outside.

I pounded on the door, my voice cracking as I pleaded with them. "Please. This child is innocent. You can't take its life! That raven is just an animal. Stop listening to it! Please, just let me keep this baby!"

But even as I cried until I sank to my knees, they remained unmoved.

Beatrice’s voice, cold as steel, sliced through the door. "You've sacrificed two already. Don't you understand? This one must go, too."

Just as I was about to resign myself to the inevitable, the crunch of tires on gravel sounded from the main gate—it was my parents, Robert and Eleanor Beaumont. In that moment, a desperate sliver of hope flared to life inside me.

I heard the lock turn and scrambled toward my parents.

I clutched their hands, my voice choked with sobs. "Mom, Dad… please, you have to help me!"

Seeing my tear-streaked face, they were visibly shocked. They frowned, looking me over.

"Clara, what's happened? You called saying you had good news… Why are you in this state?"

I had called them earlier, asking them to come. After being forced to lose two children, I couldn't afford to take any more risks. So, I had asked my parents for help. Thank God, they had actually come.

With them here, I finally found a flicker of courage. I sobbed, my body trembling. "Mom, Dad, Alistair and Beatrice… they're trying to force me to…"

My parents' faces darkened. My mother snapped, "Alistair, Beatrice, my daughter married into this family to be cherished, not to be tormented!"

My father added, "You owe us an explanation, and we're not leaving until we get one."

Alistair and Beatrice glanced at them but didn't deign to argue. They simply led everyone back to the living room.

Then, Alistair stated simply, "Clara's pregnancy is cursed. The child must be purified."

A wave of cold dread washed over me. I was about to beg my parents to take me home when the raven cried out again.

It stared at my belly with its blood-red eyes, screeching without pause.

With just a few of those terrible cries, my parents' expressions shifted. They exchanged a look with Alistair and Beatrice, as if some silent, horrifying agreement had been reached.

The next moment, my parents turned to me, their faces grim. "Clara, you need to terminate this pregnancy. Be a good girl and go with them. Get the ritual over with."

Their words hit me like a physical blow. I never dreamed my own parents could be as monstrous as the Sterlings. They, too, were blindly trusting the raven, forcing me to give up my child. Their betrayal was a sharper pain than any physical blow.

My eyes widened in disbelief as I screamed, "How can you listen to a bird? This is your grandchild! What century are we living in? How can you trust a bird over a doctor's report?"

I snatched the papers from the floor and thrust them toward my parents, begging them to just look.

But they pushed me away, scolding me as if I were a petulant child. "We told you, this child cannot be kept. Stop making a scene! Just do as you’re told and get rid of it!"

Meanwhile, the raven's cries grew louder, a maddening shriek that threatened to shatter my sanity.

My eyes were bloodshot as I glared at it. "It's you and your damned screeching! You're the one who deserves to die!"

I lunged for the raven, my hands ready to wring its neck, but my parents grabbed me, their grip rough. My mother’s hand cracked across my face while my father's fingers dug into my arm like talons.

They shouted in unison, "Clara, stop embarrassing us! Get in that room and get rid of that cursed child!"

Watching my own parents turn on me, an icy emptiness bloomed in my chest.

I’d never told them about the first two forced miscarriages. I hadn't wanted to worry them or cause a war between our families. So, I had shouldered all the grief alone.

This time, I had finally reached out, hoping for their protection, their support. But I was a fool. They had sided with Alistair and Beatrice, joining the chorus demanding I sacrifice my child.

I clutched my stomach, my body wracked with silent sobs that soaked into the expensive Persian rug.

No one was on my side. I was utterly alone.

I saw the open garden door and made a break for it, but Alistair and Beatrice were too quick, blocking my path. My continued resistance finally made their patience snap.

Alistair had the bodyguards seize me and hold me down while Beatrice returned from the kitchen, a bowl of some dark, viscous herbal concoction in her hands.

Ice flooded my veins. I scrambled backward, tears blinding me. "Beatrice, please… I’ve given this family everything. Please, just let this child live! I'll do anything, just let me keep him! He's only three months old, he's done nothing wrong! Please, give him a chance…"

I even turned to my parents, my voice a shredded whisper. "Mom, Dad, please help me. I've already lost two children. I can't lose another one. I'm your daughter! How can you just stand there and watch them do this to me?"

I cried until my throat was raw. I tried everything, but not one of them showed an ounce of mercy. Their eyes were cold, filled only with a steely determination to destroy the life inside me.

Before forcing the bowl to my lips, Beatrice murmured, "If the oracle says the child cannot be kept, it cannot be kept. Don't blame us, Clara. This child simply isn't blessed."

Alistair nodded. "You can always have another. This one is no great loss."

Their words were so casual, so dismissive.

My parents remained silent, but their silence was a deafening roar of agreement.

And I was left heartbroken, drowning in grief and despair as the memories of my first two stolen children came flooding back, each loss as sharp and vivid as the day it happened.