Twenty-two years ago.
Central Hospital, Z City.
The door to the private patient room on the highest floor swung open. A handsome man in a black tailored suit stepped inside, a bouquet of fresh red roses in his arms, joy and bliss unhidden on his face.
This was already the seventh bouquet of roses he'd brought into this room. His wife had given birth to their first daughter just one week ago, and he was planning on bringing her even more.
On the large white bed, a beautiful young woman sat leaning against the pillows, her long black hair cascading down the sides of her lovely face. Upon seeing her husband, her large dolly eyes — a blue as deep as sapphire — gleamed with unbidden joy and affection. That was, until her gaze landed on the bouquet of roses he was holding.
Her face darkened at once. Her weary gaze flicked toward the six vases of roses sitting by the window, still fresh and gorgeous. "My love," she said, her tone frustrated, "I know you love me, and I love you so much too, but you really don't have to get me new roses every day like this."
The man didn't mind the complaint in her tone. He simply set the bouquet aside, smiling slyly as he came toward the bed and pressed a kiss onto her lips. "You deserve every single thing I can give you in this world, my love, for making me the happiest man in the world," he whispered lovingly.
Then he bent down to the little cot next to her bed, his mouth widening into a joyful grin as he rubbed his nose against the tiny human sleeping soundly inside it. "Isn't that right, my little angel? Doesn't Mommy deserve all of Daddy's love for bringing you into this world?"
A soft chuckle slipped from the woman's lips. "Shh… be careful, or you'll wake her up, love. She just went back to sleep an hour ago."
"Oh no, Daddy wouldn't want to wake you, little angel," the man whispered softly, pressing a kiss to his daughter's cheek before turning back to his wife. "How do you feel today, love? Has little Marja been giving you a hard time?"
"Not at all," the young woman replied with a sweet smile, though there was a slight hesitation in her tone. Her gaze dropped to the cot, her voice small and unsure as she asked, "My love, is it just me or… does Marja seem... a little different today?"
The man stiffened slightly at his wife's question. He turned back to the cot, taking a careful look over their daughter, then looked at his wife again, his brow furrowing. "How different, love? I'm not sure I can tell what's different about our Marja today."
She forced an awkward smile and waved him off, reaching for his hand and pulling him closer. "Maybe I'm just exhausted and a little too sensitive. It's my first time being a mom, maybe I'm overthinking way too much."
"I understand, my dear," the man replied softly, pressing a reassuring kiss to her forehead. "It's my first time being a dad too, and I'm here for you. For our Marja, too."
A content, satisfied smile curled on her lips at her husband's words. She leaned into his loving embrace, pushing the strange thoughts aside as she reminded herself there were more important things to focus on than being overly sensitive over tiny details, now that she was a mother.
Little did she know, in another private room a few floors below, another young woman had also just given birth to a daughter a little more than a week ago.
This young woman was around the same age, though her looks were merely above average, with dark brown hair and eyes in a matching dull shade. She was also leaning against her bed, her blouse open, leaving her chest uncovered.
In her arms was a seven-day-old baby girl, her large eyes wide open as she looked curiously up at the woman holding her. Unlike the woman, the baby girl's eyes were a brilliant shade of sapphire blue.
"Why isn't this thing drinking my milk?" she muttered, forcing her nipple against the baby's mouth. Then she snapped toward the figure in a nurse's uniform standing at the door, her voice rising angrily. "Aren't they supposed to crave milk when they're born?"
"They are supposed to," the nurse replied with a sneer, arms folded across her chest. "Maybe she's just not into your milk since, you know, you're not her actual mother?"
"Don't you fucking say it out loud," the woman growled, her face tightening with rage. "I've paid you more than you asked for. Now keep your mouth shut and never say another word about this!"
As if sensing the tension, the baby girl started crying, making the woman's already twisted expression contort even further.
"Oh dear, look at you," the nurse sighed, rolling her eyes as she walked over and took the baby from her arms. "You can't even soothe a crying baby, Sheila. You don't even know how to be a mother. Are you really sure you can take care of this poor little thing?"
Sheila's face contorted, her voice erupting through the room. "You have no idea! I do have what it takes to be a mother, and that's why I'm even willing to leave my daughter in someone else's hands so she can have a better life!"
"Tsk." The nurse scoffed, still cradling the baby in her arms. "You just got lucky that your daughter somehow took after your dead husband entirely, while Mr. and Mrs. Ralpha's baby girl had that exact same shade of blue eyes and black hair. I almost couldn't tell them apart when I bathed them."
Sheila's voice dropped, her teeth clenching as she shot the nurse a glare. "Haven't I told you to shut the fuck up?"
The nurse let out a brittle, mocking laugh and shoved the baby back into Sheila's arms. "Alright, you vicious woman. Do whatever you want, then. Oh, and before I go, give that baby a name. I've got forms to fill."
Sheila stared down at the little baby girl, now calm and quiet in her arms. Her brown eyes softened, her features easing as she thought of her real daughter, who was probably drinking another woman's milk right now instead of hers.
That woman wasn't just any woman, but she was the wife of the man who owned Ralpha. They were billionaires, and with all the money and power they had, her daughter would get to live a life unlike anything she could ever give her.
A stream of tears rolled down Sheila's cheeks, landing on the small, angelic face below. The baby was smiling back at her now, so innocently, so unknowingly, and that smile only felt to Sheila like a knife stabbing right through her chest.
"Kaija," Sheila murmured, wiping away her tears as she steadied herself. "This one will be Kaija."
If the Ralphas had decided to call her daughter Marja, then she would choose something similar for this child, so she could always feel like her daughter was right next to her.
The nurse's lips curved into a wicked smile. She headed toward the door, not without casting one last contemptuous glance at Sheila over her shoulder. "Kaija Sepala it is, then."