The footsteps of the man in the safari shirt sounded heavy as they struck the dry earth of the yard. Each step seemed to pound against Aira's chest, bringing back the dark memories she'd tried to bury deep over the past six months.
Aira went rigid in her sewing chair. Her fingers gripped the edge of the wooden table so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The nausea that had briefly subsided came surging back, accompanied by a pulse of panic stabbing through her head.
"Excuse me. Is this truly the residence of Ms. Aira Putri?" the broad-shouldered man's voice sounded cold, formal, and utterly impersonal from the doorway.
Aira didn't answer right away. Her eyes shifted between the imposing man in front of her and the dark window of the sedan parked elegantly outside.
Behind that black glass, she knew there was someone who had been the source of all her nightmares.
"What do you want here this time?" Aira's voice came out soft and hoarse, but heavy with tension.
The man in the safari shirt didn't move. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a thick brown envelope stamped with the crest of one of Jakarta's prominent families—the family that had once shattered Aira's life.
"The Master asked me to deliver this," the man said flatly, taking a step toward Aira's sewing table without being invited.
He placed the thick envelope right beside Aira's bobbin and sewing needle. "This is compensation. The Master wants you to sign an agreement promising never to return to the city and surrendering custody of the child after you give birth."
*THUD!*
His words landed in Aira's head like the blow of an iron hammer.
This child... her own flesh and blood... they wanted to take it away before she even had the chance to hear its first cry in this world?
"No," Aira answered quickly, her voice trembling violently as she struggled to hold back her explosive anger. "Take your money back! I refuse to sell my child!"
"Miss Aira, please be rational," the man cut in emotionlessly, as though he were discussing a transaction involving used goods. "You live off someone else's generosity in this dilapidated rented house, you can barely afford to eat, and the villagers are starting to ridicule your status. Mr. Handoko's family can give that child the best life possible. But you... what can you offer with this old sewing machine?"
His words were like a poison-coated dagger. They struck directly at Aira's greatest fear.
Aira stared at her swollen belly. Images of her poverty, Mrs. Lisa's disgusted look the previous afternoon, and this four-by-five-meter shack spun through her mind.
Was she really being selfish for wanting to keep this child despite all her suffering?
Suddenly, the sedan's window outside rolled all the way down. A middle-aged man wearing dark glasses inside the car stared at Aira from a distance.
There was no regret, no warmth. Only an appraising gaze filled with the arrogance of a man who possessed immense wealth. He leaned back and gave his guard a subtle signal to finish the matter quickly.
Aira clenched her fists. The fear that had paralyzed her slowly gave way to the blazing courage of a desperate mother.
She rose straight from her chair, squeezed the brown envelope stuffed with stacks of hundred-thousand-rupiah bills, then hurled it straight at the safari-shirted man's chest.
"Get out of my house!" Aira shouted with all the strength left in her body. "Take that dirty money back! Tell your Master that I will never, not even with my dying breath, sell my child to the people who destroyed my life!"
The safari-shirted man was startled for a moment, never expecting such fierce resistance from a woman who looked so fragile. The brown envelope fell open across the dusty cement floor, revealing bundles of bills worth enough to rent this house for years.
"Miss Aira, you'll regret this decision—"
"I SAID GET OUT!"
Aira snatched the large fabric scissors from the table and pointed them straight ahead. Her eyes blazed with anger and deep mental exhaustion.
Seeing that her dangerous determination was unwavering, the broad-shouldered man finally backed away slowly. He gathered the envelope and scattered money with a cold expression, then turned and walked out toward the black sedan.
*BANG!*
The sedan drove away, leaving behind a cloud of road dust billowing high into the afternoon air.
The villagers who had been peeking from behind windows and between the coconut trees began whispering again. Wild new speculation about who Aira really was now spread through the village.
Aira dropped the fabric scissors onto the floor. Her body shook violently. Her legs could no longer support her weight or the mounting emotional pressure.
*CRASH!*
She collapsed to her knees beside her old sewing machine, clutching her chest as the searing, twisting pain struck her once again.
"Argh..." Aira grimaced helplessly in the darkness that once again enveloped her home.
She was alone. Her enemy was no longer merely poverty and the neighbors' scorn, but a vast power ready to pounce on her at any moment.