"Elena, the first samples arrived," my new assistant, Sarah, said as she came in. Young, sharp, with a keen fashion instinct.
I inspected the pieces. They were perfect—the new season inspired by the Tuscan countryside: soft tones, clean lines. Buyers were already responding.
"The buyers loved them," Sarah said. "Three department stores want to place orders."
"Good." I let out a breath. It proved the move made sense.
"You don't look well," Sarah hesitated. "Do you want to rest?"
"I'm fine," I lied, though nausea had been nagging since morning. Maybe I was just exhausted.
"Maybe you should go home early," she pressed. "I can handlethe rest."
"Okay." I checked the time. "I need to pick up Stella."
At the kindergarten, she ran to me, bright and proud. "Mom! Today we made crafts. I made a little house!"
"Great," I took her hand. "Let's go show Daddy."
"Will Daddy come home early?" she asked.
"He probably will," I answered, though I wasn't sure. Igor was pulled between family matters and business.
Back at the Upper East Side apartment, I suddenly felt dizzy. Stella watched me, worried.
"Mom?" she asked. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." I steadied myself against the wall. "Just tired. I'll lie down for a bit."
"I'll get you water."
"No, go play." I forced a smile. "Mom just needs a little rest."
I closed the bedroom door and lay down, but the nausea hit harder, and I ran to the bathroom and vomited.
Damn it. What was going on?
After washing my face, I stared at my reflection—pale, faint shadows under my eyes. I'd been pushing myself too hard. Maybe I should see a doctor. Then a thought flashed through my head, and my pulse jumped. I counted back—my last period had been before Christmas, more than a month. I grabbed my phone and called my private doctor.
"Ms. Jensen, how can I help you?" the receptionist asked.
"I'd like to make an appointment," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Tomorrow?"
"Sure. Ten in the morning?"
"That works."
After I hung up, I sat on the edge of the bed, my hand covering my lower belly. Could it be? Am I pregnant?
I thought of that night at Christmas, after Igor proposed. We'd said we'd give Stella a sibling. Had we succeeded?
"Mom!" Stella burst in. "Daddy's home!"
I smoothed my face and walked out. Igor was in the living room taking off his coat. He came straight to me. "You looked pale. Areyou okay?"
"No," I said, and then told him, "We might be having another baby."
He had been worried a moment before, but when I said that, his eyes widened. "You're serious?"
