"I want to go into town," I say at last.
He turns slightly, one brow lifted.
"What for?"
"Fresh air. Real noise. I need to remember the world is more than corridors and curated conversation."
It's not that I don't want to tell him.
It's more that I don't think he's equipped to handle this information just now.
He watches me for a long beat, then reaches out and smooths a strand of hair behind my ear.
The touch is gentle, but I feel it like an anchor.
"Tomorrow morning," he says.
"Lena goes with you."
I nod once.
No gloating.
No smile.
Just the quiet satisfaction of ground gained.
The next morning, Lena drives me to the side street where the midwife lives.
"Fifteen minutes," she says.
"But if you need more, I'll wait."
"She won't tell anyone?" I ask.
Lena glances at me, then ahead.
"Aoife delivered my sister's daughter. She knows how to keep a woman's secrets. She won't tell anyone,” She continues quietly, but not softly.
"Aoife doesn't talk. She listens. That's why the men don't trust her. They don't know what she's seen on those scans."
I nod and step out.
The green door at the side of the butcher's leads to a narrow staircase that smells of old onions and steam.
Upstairs, I knock once.
Aoife opens the door with a towel wrapped around her hair.
Her face is young, but her eyes are ancient, dark with the knowledge of a hundred women's silences.
The flat behind her is warm and faintly humming, low lights and closed curtains.
She steps aside and I enter, inhaling the scents of mint, cloves, and the faint antiseptic sting of wiped-down plastic.
She locks the door, slides the bolt.
"Coat off."
