Lia

The chill of the early morning air bit through Lia’s thin jacket as she sat on the edge of a crumbling park bench, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. At six months pregnant, exhaustion weighed heavier on her than ever before, yet she forced herself to keep moving, to keep hoping. Her once-bright auburn hair hung in tangled waves around her face, her green eyes dulled by weeks of restless nights and fleeting meals. Every day was a battle to find safety, food, and shelter—not just for herself, but for the child she carried, a fragile beacon of hope in the storm of her life. Lia wasn’t sure how she’d ended up here—part luck, part loss, part choices she’d rather forget. But as she rubbed her belly, feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath her palm, she resolved to fight for more. For the baby, there had to be more. There had to be a way out of this darkness.