Chapter Two: Naomi

Naomi awoke with a choked cry, lungs grasping for air, her chest rising and falling in ragged heaves. Her body trembled beneath the thin blanket. She stared into the darkness, wide-eyed. But it wasn’t the dream that made her shake. It was the wetness she felt beneath her. She didn’t even need to check. She already knew. Twelve years.

Twelve years of waking to this same nightmare, and twelve years of this same reality—the blood that came without cause, without pause.

Sometimes in the night. Sometimes in the day. Sometimes both.

She had tried everything. Tying herself with layers of cloth so tight she could barely walk. Hiding the stains beneath heavier garments. The shame. The embarrassed silence of everyone she knew. The sleepless nights of prayers.

The doctors took her gold and gave her bitter herbs. The priests offered rituals. The healers gave her potions that burned her insides. Shamans danced and chanted until she was dizzy. And still the blood came.

Her inheritance—gone. Her home—sold.

Her name—reduced to a whisper.

The woman with the issue of blood.

She drew her legs up to her chest and wept quietly in the dark, her tears falling into hands that had prayed too long and too hard.