Lost In The Darkness {Edited}

Chapter~47

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Vanessa's POV:

Sophia is alive. My daughter is fucking alive. That's what Viktor told me after I plucked his nails out and peeled his skin off.

The thought slams into me like a freight train, my heart splintering into a million jagged pieces. I feel an overwhelming mix of agony and relief that makes my knees buckle. She must be eight years old now. Eight years. Is she safe? Is she happy? Is she protected, far away from this nightmare of a world? God, I pray she is. Even though the thought of her absence rips my soul apart, I'd rather she be far from this life. Not after knowing the horrors it holds.

I'm in my bedroom, sitting with Whiskey on my lap, dimly lit by a single lamp in the corner that casts long, eerie shadows. The air is thick with the stale scent of cigarettes and spilled whiskey. I've been living in a fog of despair, each day blending into the next without meaning. But now, this revelation shatters the monotony, replacing it with a heart-wrenching urgency.

"Where are you, my baby?" I whisper into the emptiness, fury bubbling up inside me. It's been years, and I'm still no closer to finding her. Where did they hide her? Is she in plain sight? I force myself to shove away the dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm me. For the first time in years, I dare to hope.

My fingers twist the USB drive in my hand, trembling as I prepare to connect it to my laptop. This might hold the clue I need to find her. My heart races as I take a deep, shaky breath and plug it in. The screen flickers to life, casting a pale blue glow across the room. Two folders appear, each containing five files. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely click on the first video.

The screen fills with an image that sends a cold shiver down my spine. A 13-year-old me, beaten and battered, lies in a filthy cage, screaming in agony. I was in labor, with no doctors, no support—just a half-sitting, half-lying position, fighting against cruel fate. The room around me in the video is dark and damp, the concrete walls stained with years of neglect and suffering. Flickering fluorescent lights cast a sickly, yellow glow over everything.

Guards are stationed nearby, their faces indifferent. They didn't care. No one did, except for one man. An older guard, new to the facility. He didn't want to work there, but something—maybe debt or family—had forced his hand. His eyes, full of pity and regret, stood out against the backdrop of indifference.

As I labored for over twelve agonizing hours, he was the one who snuck me water and small snacks. His eyes were full of pity, but he was powerless—just a man already risking too much. I never learned his name or what became of him. Did he escape? Was he punished for his small acts of kindness?

Finding him might be the only way to find my daughter.

I refocus on the footage. In the dead of night, there I was, lying with my twins, covered in blood and tears, crying for their fate. One daughter wailed like a normal newborn, her cries echoing off the cold, hard walls. But the other lay lifeless in my arms, her tiny body still and cold. My Adriana was stillborn.

The same man came to my cage, sneaking carefully. He looked into my pleading eyes, and I begged him silently to take a piece of my heart with him.

He carefully opened the cage, took my crying daughter in his arms, and wrapped her in a piece of cloth. "I will take her somewhere safe," he whispered, his voice laced with pain and regret. My weak self managed to kiss my daughter's forehead for the last time, a parting kiss filled with love and despair.