The mirror fogs. I wipe it clean. My reflection stares back, bare and unguarded.
Enough.
I pull on a T-shirt and joggers. Step back into the bedroom of our hotelsuite.
Linus sits on the couch, shoes off, posture folded in on himself. Avonna lies across his lap, knees tucked. She looks smaller than she did an hour ago. Paler. Her eyes lift when I enter.
“Hey,” I say.
Linus shifts immediately, making room. “Come here.”
I sit on the edge of the couch. Avonna reaches for my hand and holds it tighter than usual. Linus strokes her hair. No one rushes to speak.
“You feelin’ any better?” I finally venture.
She nods once, then shakes her head, frustrated with herself. “I’m okay.”
I watch her free hand drift to her stomach without her realizing it.
The room is warm. Too warm. Adrenaline still zaps under my skin, but fear has started to edge it out. Sharp and cold. Until tonight, I didn’t realize how close I was to losing her.
“You want a shower?” I ask. “Might feel good.”
“Yeah.” She blinks up at me. “Please.”
We don’t rush her. Linus helps her stand, arm firm around her back. I grab a towel, turn on the bathroom light, test the water with my wrist before she even asks.
She undresses and steps under the spray. Exhales like she’s been holding herself together with string. Steam starts to rise. Linus leans against the vanity, fully dressed. I sit on the closed toilet lid, watching her wash the night’s performance down the drain.
“I didn’t mean to blow up,” she sighs, water running over her shoulders. “The pregnancy thing threw me.”
I close my eyes. “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”
“Aye.” Linus nods. “You told the truth.”
I swallow. The seat is cool through my joggers.
“I’m tired,” she says as she shampoos her hair. “I hate having to shrink.”
The water keeps running. No one interrupts.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice when you pull away,” she continues. “When you choose silence over love. When you think protecting Padraig means hiding me.”
I shift, shoulders tight. “I thought I was buyin’ time.”
“For what?” She peers at me through the glass.
Neither of us answers right away.
I stand, step closer to her. “I guess I thought if I waited long enough, it would get easier.”
“It doesn’t.” She looks me in the eye. “It just teaches your body you aren’t worth being loved.”
Her words land like a right hook.
Linus exhales. “I’m not ashamed of us.”
“Then stop acting like you are,” she says gently. No venom. No theatrics. Just exhaustion.
