Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 127

Chapter 127

Miexha pov

Hospitals used to be my second home.
White walls, antiseptic air, machines beeping like off-key lullabies—ah yes, childhood trauma nostalgia.

But for months now?

No rashes.
No fainting spells.
No hives from someone’s “organic” shampoo.

Suspicious.

So I visited the only adult I trusted outside my family: Dr. Valencia.

“Look who’s still breathing,” she grinned as I walked in, arms wide.

“Still allergic to eggs,” I smiled, “but apparently not dying from oxygen anymore.”

She rolled her eyes with love and told me to sit.

Vitals: normal.
Heartbeat: stable.
Breathing? Smooth as jazz.

I kept blinking at her monitor like it would suddenly say
“Just kidding, you're still broken.”

I blinked at the chart.
“Are you sure this isn’t someone else’s result?”

“Nope,” she beamed.
“That left ear’s picking up whispers now, baby girl. What’ve you been eating—miracle noodles?”

I didn’t answer. Probably just all the cardio from band rehearsals and emotional whiplash.

“Still allergic to wild berries,” she added.
“Don’t go licking random fruits.”

“Noted.”

While I was changing into my regular clothes, I heard her shuffle through my records.

She suddenly gasped.
“Excuse me, what’s this?”

I froze. “What?”

She grinned like a shark. “Verra-Dom?”

“…It’s a…long story.”

“Oh my God, you got married?” she squealed.
“No wonder I haven’t seen you lately, you’re too busy doing adult things!”

I died inside.

Then it got worse.

She added,
“Since you’re officially a wife, I’m recommending a light exercise plan to prep your body… y’know. For babies.”

I choked on air.

“I’m fifteen.”

She raised a brow.
“Your record says legally married in Amerina.”

My brain blue-screened.
Babies?! I still struggle to microwave hotdogs.

Then I remembered.

That night. The infamous hole-hunting expedition with Jayson. We’d failed, yes—but now that my health was stable…

“…Do you, uh… have a map?” I asked.
“For the… hole?”

Dr. Valencia wheeze-laughed.

“Oh, sweetie. They married you off without giving proper sex education?”

I nodded. My family: rich in money, poor in context.

Dr. Valencia pulled out a thin pink book.
"How to Please Your Husband: Young Wife Edition."

I opened it.

Closed it.

Opened it again.
Wide eyes.

“There are diagrams,” I whispered.

The book had illustrations.
Like full-on, realistic, very accurate, couple-in-various-scenarios illustrations.