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I spent days reviewing her streams,compiling a list of the IDs of vile commenters,anonymously leaked.
Their loved ones would see their darkness.
The internet wasn’t lawless—words had weight.
A massive online cleanup followed,sparking debate.
Women shouldn’t be commodified for lust.
Suggestive pregnancy content didn’t just exploit the streamer—it insidiously objectified women,eroding their status.
Pregnancy was arduous and sacred.
Paige went viral—as a pariah,universally condemned.
I kept a low profile.
Paige vanished.
When the police called,I was arguing with Ethan.
“Ethan,who’re you talking to?”
I gripped a broom,scanning the mansion’s corners.
He’d been muttering to thin air.
Either ghosts or madness from heartbreak.
He wasn’t fragile,but he loved too deeply.
It wasn’t impossible.
Ethan flushed,mumbling,unable to explain.
Hearing of Paige’s disappearance,he didn’t worry—just growled at the air.
I blinked.Therapy it was.
I calmly gave police leads on Paige’s possible hideouts,casually mentioning her“ThunderBro,”hinting she might turn to him.
The police moved fast,busting an overseas trafficking ring,saving countless women—and recovering Paige’s body.
An orphan,she had no kin.Ethan and I saw her off.
Asked if we wanted to view her,I recalled the horrors of the trafficking ring. Women were numbered. There were monthly lotteries. The winners were tortured in basements. Their fetuses were forcibly aborted as “luck charms.” It was a gruesome scene.
Gruesome deaths.
Ethan and I declined,preserving her final dignity.
With everything taken care of, I dragged Ethan to the hospital’s psych ward.
He shot me a look but went in.
Outside,waiting anxiously,someone crashed into me.
I helped her up,then froze,seeing her face.
“Quinn,remember me?”
My pupils shrank.
I knew why I’d been reborn.
