Surviving the Apocalypse: All I Want Is to Find a Husband-Chapter 153: A Quiet Baby (1)

Medeia returned to the base an hour later, carrying a torn piece of Sharon’s clothing.

At the gate, Matilda and Penelope were already waiting, her face pale, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. The moment she saw Medeia, her voice trembled. "Is it true? The baby Lucian brought ... is she Sharon’s?"

Medeia gave a small nod and handed over the fabric. "She and Jeanne were held captive by bandits for two months."

Matilda’s fingers curled around the cloth, her hands shaking as though the weight of those words had drained the strength from her body. "Where... where are they?"

Medeia told her everything. Every painful detail.

The moment the words left her lips, Matilda’s hands shook even more, and she collapsed into tears. Her sister, Penelope, stood beside her, fists clenched tightly as she trembled with rage.

"I knew it." Penelope’s voice was laced with regret. "I should have stopped them. If I had just held them back—if I hadn’t let them go—then maybe ..."

Medeia remained silent. She wasn’t the type to offer hollow reassurances. She knew grief didn’t listen to reason, nor did it care for words meant to soothe.

The only thing she could do was state the facts. "I buried Sharon near the base. I marked her grave with an iron cross. If you want to see her ... you can go in the morning."

Neither Matilda nor Penelope responded. They were drowning in sorrow, lost in a storm Medeia couldn’t pull them from.

For now, most of the base remained unaware of what had happened.

The majority were still asleep, and those who had heard the commotion in Red Canyon had only been told by the guards that there was an intruder. Nothing more. The situation had been handled, so they didn’t have to panic.

But by morning, the truth would spread like wildfire.

And Medeia would have to face it all over again.

Handling human emotions—sadness, sorrow, and pain—had never been her strong suit.

And tonight, they felt heavier than ever.

"Go back to your quarters." Medeia patted Matilda’s shoulder before walking through the gate. "We’ll talk more about this tomorrow."

She felt drained—perhaps from spending the entire day stitching blankets, or from the relentless fights she had endured in such a short span of time.

Or maybe, just maybe, she was exhausted by something far deeper—the weight of the unease that never left her chest.

Just as she had expected, the pain of losing her children never truly faded.

It didn’t disappear—it merely lay buried deep within her heart, waiting. And the moment she stumbled upon the right trigger, it would resurface, as if no time had passed at all.

Medeia had intended to head straight to her room and get some rest, but before she realized it, her feet carried her somewhere else.

The medical bay.

I’ll just check in for a moment, she told herself.

Lucian was surely still there, waiting. There was no harm in stopping by to see him—and to check on the baby’s condition.

The medical bay’s lights shone stark and bright against the dim surroundings. Medeia pushed the door open, and the soft creak of the hinges made every head in the room turn toward her.

Lucian sat beside the small bed, his fingers gently adjusting the blanket wrapped around Sierra’s frail body, as if ensuring she remained cocooned in warmth. His gaze flickered to Medeia for a split second, relief flashing in his eyes before he returned his focus to the baby.

Across the room, Sister Jeanne stood with the doctors, deep in discussion. Their hushed voices filled the space, carrying a tension that Medeia could feel.

"Are you absolutely sure nothing is wrong with her vocal cords?" Sister Jeanne’s voice was filled with worry.

Joy let out a quiet sigh. "I’ve examined her multiple times. Physically, she’s fine. Malnourished, yes, but there’s no damage to her throat or voice box. I think ... This is something else."

Medeia stepped further into the room. The exhaustion in her limbs was almost unbearable, but for now, she ignored it.

She had come to check on Sierra. She had come to see Lucian.

"Are you alright?" Lucian asked, starting to rise from his seat when she was standing beside him, but she lifted a hand, signaling him to stay put.

"I’m fine," she assured him before turning her attention to Joy. "What’s wrong with her?"

Joy let out a quiet sigh. "I ran a full examination. There are no external injuries, but she’s severely malnourished and seems to struggle with regulating her body temperature. Mr. Lucian had made the blanket feel warmer, so her temperature will be fine for now."

"The prolonged malnutrition nearly caused organ failure, but thankfully, it wasn’t too severe. Sister Jeanne was able to stabilize her."

Joy paused, her expression darkening. "However ... she hasn’t made a single sound since we brought her in. Not a whimper. Not a cry. Nothing."

Medeia frowned. "Maybe she’s just too weak to speak."

"That’s what I thought at first," Joy admitted, "but no matter how frail someone is, they usually make some kind of noise—a breathy sigh, a tiny whimper, something. But with her, it’s complete silence."

Sister Jeanne stepped forward. "Miss Joy, could you examine her again? Perhaps my ability wasn’t able to heal everything."

"You did everything you could, Sister." Joy shook her head gently. "I just fear that she isn’t speaking because of severe psychological trauma. After all, she was held captive by bandits for two months."

Medeia’s fingers curled slightly at her sides.

Of course, it was a psychological trauma.

That tiny, fragile thing lying on the bed had already suffered more than most adults ever would. She had been born into a nightmare, torn from her mother’s arms, and forced to endure horrors no child should ever face.

And yet, she was still here. Still breathing.

Medeia sighed softly, asking, "If it’s trauma, isn’t there a chance she could become the Lost?"

It was Ulric who responded. "That’s highly unlikely. Infants don’t typically turn into the Lost because their cognitive functions aren’t fully developed. They don’t perceive reality the same way adults do, and their emotions don’t settle into despair in the same manner. Besides ..."

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