“Ma’am?”
His voice was calm — already alert.
“Can you come up?” I asked, trying to steady my breathing. “I... I have something to tell you.”
A brief pause.
“On my way.”
The call ended.
My heart pounded harder.
The knock came minutes later — soft but deliberate.
“Ma’am, it’s Petros.”
“Come in.”
The door opened gently.
Petros stepped inside.
He was still dressed in his dark suit — tailored, structured — posture straight, movements controlled.
But his eyes betrayed something softer.
Concern.
He always observed first.
He assessed the situation before speaking.
I sat up slowly and pulled the duvet over my lap — not out of shame, but instinctively protective.
I gestured toward the armchair beside the bed.
“Sit.”
He complied immediately.
Graceful.
Attentive.
He folded his hands loosely in front of him and looked at me carefully.
“You look very worried, Elena.”
I met his gaze directly.
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
The room shifted.
The words didn’t echo loudly — but they changed the atmosphere instantly.
